


Dribbling Mad

by SusanaR



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [51]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Backstory, Brotherhood, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Comedy, Cousins, Cousins and friends, Drama, Elves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fall of Doriath, Family, First Age, Fourth Age, Friendship, Gen, Greenwood, History, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Mentor/Protégé, Mirkwood, Second Age, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Third Age, War of Wrath, War of the Last Alliance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:12:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 216,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: All Thranduil is trying to do is teach his long-time friend and new-found cousin how to act like a respectable royal lord. It would be a little easier if Theli were at all minded to learn! After all, a great-grandson of Dior Eluchil cannot sail West still behaving like a backwoods bumpkin!New Chapter Summaries:Chapter 39: Thranduil learns that a known threat has been eliminated in a very final way, but he does not find this reassuring (and neither does Faramir). Thranduil, Thalion, and Lothgail figure out a way to deal with the messy political implications of Theli’s past treason conviction.





	1. Dribbling Mad Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Gen DH AU stories, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> Links to specific stories can be found in the End Notes. 
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, and General Rochendil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. Please be sure to read the tags carefully. 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” - ― Ransom Riggs

Prologue/Chapter 1: Set in about Fourth Age Year 17, in the Elven King’s new castle in Emyn Duir, the dark mountains in the middle of the Greenwood. 

 

Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Elves of the Greenwood, stood at the balcony of the castle roof terrace in his elves’ new capital of Emyn Estel. The vibrant young town was located in the Dark Mountains at the center of the Greenwood. Thranduil’s people had named their new seat of government after the hope and dream they'd fought for - reclaiming their Wood from the darkness brought by Sauron and his minions. 

This evening was the anniversary of the founding of Emyn Estel. The celebration Thranduil had stepped away from continued apace behind him. Spritely music played and elves and a few Men and dwarves danced and chatted and laughed. They also schemed and gossiped and complained. It was one of those moments when Thranduil was tired of having to play the role of King. 

Turning away from the merriment with its undercurrent of strain, Thranduil looked out over the forest and took deep, calming breaths. The singing fountain in the center of the roof terrace flowed down to the edge of the balcony beside Thranduil and then spilled down thousands of feet into a mountain-side swimming pool on a lower level of the castle. The sound of the rushing water dulled the noise of strumming lutes, mellifluous [golden-tongued] minstrels, and elvish gaiety. It also provided a comfortable accompaniment to the King’s pensive mood and wandering thoughts. 

By the light of the full moon and the shining stars, Thranduil could see the rippling sea of green leaves on the tree tops far below the Dark Mountains. Because of these trees, this Wood which had been Thranduil’s home for thousands of years, he was still here. Because he was still here, the elves of the Greenwood were still here. They’d cleanse this forest before they sailed. They owed it to this Wood which had been their home. 

From his vantage point, the King could also see the white rocks of the mountain sides and the crystal spray of the river Calenduin. The springs which gave birth to the green river were located high in the Dark Mountains. From their verdant rocky source, those springs turned into clear, singing streams which tumbled down the white and green cliffs of Emyn Duir in stunning waterfalls. 

From the south side of Emyn Duir where Thranduil now stood, the Calenduin flowed down to the western and southern most limits of the forest. On the southern-most side, Thranduil’s and his father Oropher’s second-age capital of Amon Lanc stagnated in the lingering evil which Sauron had brought there in his incarnation as the Necromancer of Dol Guldur. 

On the eastern-most side of the Wood, the Calenduin passed through Thranduil’s cousin Celeborn’s new settlement of East Lorien. Celeborn and his elves were cleansing the Greenwood from the south and east, while Thranduil and his elves were working down from the the north and west. 

Thranduil’s elves had given their rejuvenated sylvan kingdom the name “Eryn Lasgalen.” In Westron, it translated to the “Wood of the Green Leaves.” The name had been suggested by Thranduil’s cousin Lothgail. The elven King had supported it in part because he felt it did honor to his son, Legolas. 

And Legolas would have to sail before their task of cleansing the Wood could possibly be finished. And he wouldn’t be the only one. Many of Thranduil’s elves already had their thoughts turning toward the West. It made them somewhat more difficult to rule, at times. Thranduil may be their King now, but Valar only knew who would rule them on the other side of the sea. 

Well, the Valar, and possibly also Captain Glorfindel. Gondolin’s golden captain had bidden farewell to his long-time Lord and charge Elrond Earendilion when Elrond had sailed with the other ringbearers. Glorfindel had stayed on Middle Earth to guard and accompany Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, and at times also Arwen Elrondiel and Aragorn Isildurchil and their growing family. 

Glorfindel had proven very reluctant to speak of what he’d known in the West before electing to sail east to Middle Earth to serve as protector to his King Turgon’s great-grandson Elrond. Glorfindel had, however, admitted to Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, and Thranduil’s parents that there was a kingdom of the Sindar on Tol Eressea in Aman. 

Glorfindel had further shared that at the time of his sailing east to Middle Earth, the Sindar on Aman had been ruled by the long-ago King of Doriath, Dior Eluchil, and his Queen Nimloth. The Second Age conference in Lothlorien where such matters had been discussed had been highly confidential. So, naturally, word of Glorfindel’s account of the geopolitics of Aman had spread far and wide. And particularly so since Sauron’s defeat, now that the elves who remained on Middle Earth were faced with the prospect of eventually needing to sail and find a place in the kingdoms of the West, or else fade. 

And so now Thranduil had the joy of dealing with some subjects who were already thinking forward towards dwelling in a renewed Doriath in the West. Oh, Thranduil would certainly have high status in such a society as a scion of the line of King Dior’s great-uncle Elmo. Prince Elmo had even, according to Glorfindel, ruled Doriath-in-the-West, called Doriath Gaeronwest, for a time before the rebirth of Dior and Nimloth. But in higher positions of power would be the heirs of Dior. First, Elured and Elurin, the older twin brothers of Elrond’s mother Elwing, and their descendants. 

For an age and a half, in fact until just a little over a decade ago, it had been assumed that Elured and Elurin had died as mere children. Most had believed Dior and Nimloth’s twin sons to have been the final victims of the sons of Feanor during their attack on Doriath which had been the Kingdom’s doom. Others, believing the account of Maedhros Feanorion that he had tried to rescue Elured and Elurin after his brother Celegorm and his servants lured the peredhil into the forest, only to have the terrified twin peredhil run away deep into the forests surrounding Doriath, believed that the poor children had succumbed to starvation and the elements. 

But in truth, they hadn’t. They had fled, but they had lived long enough to be taken in by the Nandor, also called the Laiquendi and later the Silvan elves or Wood-elves. They were the rustic elves of the great forests of Beleriand, the elves who had never completed the journey to the West, or joined the great Middle Earth kingdom of Doriath founded by Thranduil’s many-times great uncle Elu Thingol and protected by Elu’s Maiarin wife Melian’s magic. 

The isolated Nandorin villagers who had taken in Elured and Elurin had been led by the elleth Dilys, the aunt of Denethor, the last leader of the Laiquendi. Out of fear that harboring the heirs of Doriath would bring Morgoth’s attention, Dilys and her fellow elders had re-named the young twins. Elured had become “Elboron” and the younger twin Elurin had become “Eldun.” The elders had burned the remnants of the fancy clothing which the twins had been wearing when they fled the slaughter at Doriath. The jeweled rings and chains of office which had survived the fire, the only remaining evidence of the twins’ royal status, the elders had buried. Unknown to the elders, two of the village’s young elflings, Eirian and Serenwen, had witnessed the burying of the treasures. 

The twins had grown to adulthood believing their early life to have been a dream. Elured had become an apprentice of Elder Fion, the village’s most skilled hunter and warrior. Elurin had studied with Elder Dilys, the village’s healer. 

Only when the foundling twins came of age had Dilys and the other elders taken them aside to explain to them the truth of their origins. The elders gave the twins two choices. The first, to reclaim their true names and leave with the elders’ blessing to go and seek out their royal kinsmen Amdir, Celeborn and Oropher in the city of Lindon on the Isle of Balar. The second, to remain Elboron and Eldun, and stay with their adoptive people. 

Elboron had wished to reclaim the name Elured and go with his twin to join their kin on Balar. Elurin had been determined for them to remain Elboron and Eldun, and stay in the village. Elurin felt more strongly than his older twin, so remain – and remain hidden - they did. However, when Thranduil recalled the story of Doriath’s ‘lost’ twin princes, he always called the hidden twins Elured and Elurin, for that is who they truly were. Taking different names didn’t change that, not in Thranduil’s opinion. 

Elurin had fallen in love with the twins’ elflinghood village playmate Eirian, and the two of them were wed the year that the War of Wrath began. Some of the villagers, led by Elder Fion, had left their home just after that wedding to join the War against Morgoth and his servants. 

Elured had been amongst their number. Though he had kept his promise to his twin and never revealed his true name, Elured had fought beside and protected his nephews Elros and Elrond during the War of Wrath. Not until the war was won, and Elrond and Elros were safe with their kin in Ereinion Gil-galad’s new city of Lindon on the shore of the sea, did Elured leave his nephews. Together with his new love Anwen, and their companions Fion, Serenwen, and Serenwen’s new Noldorin husband Nallos, Elured returned to the village and his twin. 

Despite all of the precautions taken by the Nandorin village elders, servants of Morgoth fleeing their master’s defeat had heard rumors of the twins’ survival. They had come to the village, meaning to torture the truth out of its inhabitants. Elurin had used his powers, inherited from his great-grandmother Melian the Maia, to hide his village. And then he had led the orcs and monsters away from his new wife and the defenseless villagers. 

Elder Dilys had come to help her foster-son. She had died defending Elurin. Elurin himself had been crippled by the orcs, but his twin Elured and his companions had arrived home from the War just in time to save Elurin’s life. Then together the twins and the elders had led the villagers away from their ancient home near old Doriath, never to return. Before they left, Elurin’s wife Eirian and her best friend Serenwen dug up the twins’ jewels, the ones the elders had buried so long ago. Serenwen put them in a metal box she’d brought back with her from the War, and she carried them along with her. 

Elured and Elurin had wandered with their people throughout the new forests made by the Breaking of the World. In time, their people became among the most reclusive of the Nandor. They split into two groups, one of which settled by the River Nimrodel on the edges of the Forest of Lorien. The other group, led by Elurin and his twin, had wandered to the furthest north and east reaches of the Greenwood. It was there that they made their home, and it was there that Elurin’s wife Eirian and her friend Serenwen reburied the metal box of secret treasures. 

In time, the one village in the north and east of the Greenwood became over a dozen small, semi-nomadic settlements. Those villages lived an isolated existence. They only rarely made contact with their more sociable Silvan cousins who populated the rest of the Wood. And they did not welcome visitors. 

There, in the quiet vastness of the Greenwood, Elured and his wife Anwen were blessed with a son, Elissed. Elissed became a great hunter and fighter. He married an elleth named Rilly, the daughter of refugees from the fallen kingdom of Nargothorond who had been taken in by Dilys and the other elders during the First Age. Rilly sadly died giving birth to their first and only son, Emlyn. When Emlyn was a young ellon, Elurin and Eirian’s only son, Eurig, was born. The cousins Emlyn and Eurig were the closest of friends. 

For yeni, year slipped into decade slipped into century with little of note changing in the villages. But then something began to sour. The twins and the other elders didn’t know it, but Sauron the deceiver, Morgoth’s chief servant, had returned to Middle Earth. In the guise of an elf, Annatar, the lord of gifts, Sauron had taken up residence in the settlement of Eregion. 

Elured and Elurin and their people knew little to nothing of Eregion, and nothing of Annatar. But as Annatar’s power grew, orcs and monsters and bandits began to roam Middle Earth in greater numbers. Lives were lost even in the furthest, most isolated areas of the Wood. 

It was Elurin who came up with a way to protect the villages of his people. He used the powers he had inherited from his ancestress Melian to make it impossible for enemies to find their dwelling places. And so it was that their villages mostly remained safe, while the rest of the Wood suffered. 

It was during those difficult years that Lord Oropher of the Sindar and his people came to the Greenwood from Aran Ereinion’s kingdom of Lindon. Not long after the newcomers’ arrival, the Silvan elves asked Oropher to assume kingship of their Wood. The newly-made King Oropher began to organize the militias of the Silvan towns and villages into a formidable army, one capable of protecting the elves of the Greenwood from the dangers which surrounded them. 

Elured, Elurin, and their people had nothing to do with those developments. The messengers from their contacts amongst the Silvan villages came when Elured was away. Elurin and the other elders made the decision to decline contact with the newly organizing kingdom of Greenwood. 

The twins later quarreled over that decision. Elured believed that he, his twin, and their villages owed it to the rest of the Wood to join together in resisting the dark creatures now increasing in numbers and influence. Elurin, his son Eurig, his nephews Elissed and Emlyn, and the majority of the other elders disagreed. They were determined that the villages should look out for their own, and believed that they owed nothing to the rest of the Wood. 

On rare occasions, Elured and his wife Anwen had led a party to visit their sister village in Lorien. After losing the fight over contact with the new kingdom of Greenwood to his twin, Elured had decided to lead another such expedition, the first in centuries. 

On that visit to their sister Lorien village, Elured met an ellon with a familiar face. Elder Fion introduced the ellon as Belegaeron, the widower of a slain village elder, Heddwyn. She, along with Fion and Dilys, had helped to raise the elflings Elured and Elurin. If not for Belegearon, Fion explained to Elured, Heddwyn would have died before becoming a mother. If not for Belegaeron, the village in Lorien would never have thought to begin dwelling in flets high in the trees to keep safe from the orcs and wargs and monsters once again roaming Middle Earth. 

Belegaeron had lost his beloved wife Heddwyn and two of his daughters to an attack on the village by bandits. Without Belegaeron and the skills they had been taught by Belegaeron, Fion told Elured and Anwen, the village as a whole would never have managed to rally and repel that attack. If not for Belegaeron, Fion made it clear, Elured and Anwen’s party would have found nothing but bones to visit in their sister village. 

Eventually, Elured remembered the horrible day when he had first seen the face of Belegaeron. He remembered Belegaeron’s aristocratic features, distorted in rage, as the armor-clad ellon had fought and slain Elured’s and Elurin’s guards. 

Just then, Belegaeron came to Elured, in the company of his shocked granddaughters, and confessed that his true name was Maglor Feanorion. He confessed not just who he was, but also what he and his brothers had done to Elured’s family and people. 

That very same night, word reached the Lorien village of the return of Sauron, the Fall of Eregion, and how Lord Elrond’s vain attempt to rescue Eregion’s elves would likely end in his own capture at the hands of Sauron and his servants. It was the Year 1697 of the Second Age, and the War of the Men and Elves and Sauron had just begun. 

Maglor surrendered himself into Elured’s custody. The two together resolved to join Celeborn and Ereinion Gil-galad in going to the defense of Elrond and the survivors of Eregion. Thranduil himself had been a mere elfling then, newly come to the Greenwood and just raised to the status of the Wood’s prince with his parents’ ascension to the rulership of the Greenwood. He’d had no more idea of Elured’s and Maglor Feanorion’s struggles than they’d had of Thranduil’s own difficulties adjusting to his new status as Prince. 

Elured and Maglor Feanorion, and their companions, had died hero’s deaths in an orcish ambush on their way to join Lord Celeborn’s army. Maglor’s oldest granddaughter Nimrodel had been the only survivor of that skirmish. Maglor’s second oldest granddaughter, Rian, had seen a vision of the ambush in a dream. Despite the doubts of her fellow villagers, Rian had led a party out from the Lorien village to rescue the dying Nimrodel. 

Nimrodel had been too gravely injured to take word back to their sister villages in the Greenwood of what had occurred. So it had been Nimrodel’s cousin, Carys, Maglor’s youngest granddaughter, who undertook that task. 

Even though Maglor had revealed his true identity to his granddaughters before confessing it to Elured, only his granddaughters, Elured, and Anwen had known that truth. And only Elured and Maglor had known that when Maglor spoke of killing Elured’s family and people, Maglor had meant the ROYAL family of Doriath. So far as Anwen and Maglor’s granddaughters knew, Elured had merely been Elboron, a commoner child of old Doriath. 

And the rest of the village had known only that their blacksmith, Belegaeron, had chosen to travel with Elured to join Lord Celeborn’s army. But Carys believed that she owed the truth entire to Elured and Anwen’s family. So Carys told Elurin, and Eirian, Elissed, Emlyn, and Eurig, the entire story as she knew it – how Maglor had become known as Belegaeron, how he’d turned himself into Elured, how Elured and Maglor had decided together to go and join Lord Celeborn’s army. 

Carys also begged their forgiveness for her grandfather’s and great uncles’ crimes against them and their kin. She explained that she and her sister Mithrellas and cousins Nimrodel and Rian had not known the truth of their grandfather’s identity and crimes until Belegaeron confessed that he was Maglor and consigned himself to Elured’s custody. 

Elurin had cursed young Carys, and her grandfather, and all of Maglor’s kin and get. He believed that Maglor had purposely led his twin Elured to death. Elurin ordered Carys confined, and had planned to put her on trial before the villages for her grandfather’s crimes and for colluding in the purposeful endangerment of his twin Elured and sister-by-law Anwen. 

Elured’s grandson Emlyn had fallen in love with the beautiful Carys. He had begged his great-uncle Elurin for mercy for the young elleth. In the end, Elurin had allowed himself to be convinced that Carys herself was blameless. He had let her go, and then Emlyn had followed her. As with all elves who left the villages under Elurin’s protection to dwell in the wider world, Emlyn was told that he could never return. Unlike most of those departing elves, Emlyn was also told that unless he renounced his love for Carys, he would also be killed should he return. 

Emlyn and Carys settled in a mostly Silvan town in the south of the Greenwood. Near the end of the Second Age, they were blessed with three sons – Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil. After Emlyn’s death in the War of the Last Alliance, and Carys’ death not long after, their elfling sons eventually came into the custody of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien. Celeborn and Galadriel had adopted the three elflings, ignorant of the truth that the three were in fact Celeborn’s own great-great-great-great nephews, and also Galadriel’s cousins on both the Sindarin and Noldorin sides of her family. 

Meanwhile, in the isolated Nandorin villages in the far north and east of the Greenwood, Elurin’s son Eurig was heart-broken by the loss of his cousin and best friend Emlyn. Eurig’s mother Eirian took pains to introduce Eurig to all the eligible ellith at the next yen gathering of their villages. Much to the disgust of his father Elurin and the dismay of Eirian, Eurig fell in love with Pelinel, a day-dreamer who loved stories of the wider world. Her very favorite story was that of the heroes Glorfindel and Ecthelion of Gondolin, who had each fought and defeated a balrog to save their people during the Fall of Gondolin. 

After many centuries of hoping for a child, Pelinel had at last become pregnant near the end of the Second Age. Elurin was one of the most experienced healers of their people, and Eurig was one of his students. Elurin had been confident that Pelinel’s delivery would go smoothly, despite the baby’s position being breech. But he was wrong. The baby lived, but Pelinel had lost too much blood to recover from the birthing. Before she died, she named their son Ecthelion. 

Eurig, who was by then almost insensate with grief, had been in no condition to care for his now motherless son. And so it was that Ecthelion – called Theli – was mostly raised during the first years of his life by his grandmother Eirian. As Theli grew older, it was as often as not him taking care of his father Eurig, rather than the other way around. The grief of losing his wife to childbirth had caused Eurig to seek oblivion in herbs and the strong liquors brewed by the Nandor. 

Elurin had taught his grandson a healer’s trade, and Theli had learned quickly. Theli learned most things quickly, and Elurin had encouraged his grandson to spend time with other elders and to learn other trades. Elurin had hoped that his precocious grandchild would be able to help him with protecting and administering the villages, the way that his twin Elured, his son Eurig and his nephew Emlyn had once done, before Elurin lost them to death, grief, and banishment. 

Theli had also inherited some of the same powers that Elurin possessed. Elurin had been stern and impatient in trying to teach his grandson to use those gifts. Theli hadn’t learned those lessons quickly. He had tried hard at first, but as Theli had later explained to Thranduil, it had hurt to try. And Theli really hadn’t understood what his grandfather was trying to teach him in the first place, so in time he began to just pretend to try. 

And, fortunately for Theli’s sanity and for Thranduil and the all the others whose lives Theli had touched, Theli had learned the mental arts well enough to be able to convince his grandfather that he had been trying his best to learn Elurin’s lessons even though he hadn’t been. As it was, Galadriel had told Theli – and Thranduil – that Theli would never be able to master his magical gifts on this side of the sea. His first teacher had hurt him too much, trying to press him to achieve skills beyond his years. To teach him more, or even to let him practice his gifts, would be to invite great pain, maybe even unto death. 

The only lessons that Elurin had forbidden his grandson were the reading and writing lessons given to Theli by Elurin and Eirian’s elflinghood playmate Serenwen and her Noldorin husband Nallos. Most of the Nandor were illiterate, and Elurin had had no desire for his grandson to learn something for which he believed Theli would never have a need. Moreover, Elurin had worried that learning to read and write might inculcate in Theli a thirst for the wider world, and Elurin most definitively had not wanted that. 

Theli had found reading and writing the most difficult things he’d ever had the opportunity to try, and part of him would have been happy to give up. But Nallos had given the elfling a scroll written by the famous Falathrim healer Netharon during the War of Wrath. Captivation by the idea that knowledge preserved in such a strange way could help healers save their patients, maybe even could have saved Theli’s own mother Pelinel if his grandfather and father had been able to read, kept the elfling trying at his letters in secret. 

When he was forty-four years of age, the approximate equivalent of a human seventeen years of age, Theli had illicitly accompanied Nallos on a visit to the Greenwood capital of Amon Lanc. A century later, Theli would leave his village and his people for good and return to Amon Lanc to train as a healer. He would later go with Greenwood’s army to the War of the Last Alliance as an apprentice healer, and there he would meet and befriend his cousins Thranduil and Elrond of Imladris. 

Elurin’s grandson Theli would return to his people twice, and only briefly each time. The first time Theli came back was to ask his grandparents and his uncle Elissed to take in his slain cousin Emlyn’s sons Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil. Elurin, furious, had refused, and had threatened to kill Theli if he ever returned again, unless he was willing to renounce his cousins. Theli hadn’t known why his grandfather Elurin had responded with such anger, and he hadn’t been willing to renounce anyone. So he had left, intending never to return. 

Theli only returned to Elurin’s home a second time because he’d had his King’s seriously wounded foster-son Thalion with him. The village had been the only possible source of shelter and medicine close enough to save Thalion’s life. Elurin and Eurig had helped Theli to save the young ellon. But when Theli and the Greenwood party prepared to leave, Elurin had cut his grandson’s cheek with a knife coated in a special ointment. 

The ointment had caused the cut to scar, even though elves usually healed from any wound, in time, without scars. The white line on Theli’s left cheekbone would never fade, Elurin told Theli. And Elurin swore that it would mark his grandson as already being under a sentence of death should Theli ever come back to his home village again, or to any other village under Elurin’s protection. 

In Thranduil’s eyes, Elurin-called-Eldun was a selfish, cruel being. And only in part due to his unwillingness to use his powers to help the rest of the Greenwood stay safe from Sauron’s encroachment! Just as bad if not worse in Thranduil’s eyes was Elurin’s treatment of his kinsmen, and the other villagers who had decided to leave his protection. 

Fortunately, Elurin was no longer Thranduil’s problem. Even when Elurin had been Thranduil’s problem, the [blackguard] hadn’t been completely useless. The elven King had managed to use Elurin’s presence to help defend all of the Greenwood. Knowing that orcs and bandits wouldn’t be able to penetrate the part of the forest protected by Elurin, Thranduil had used that intelligence to inform how he organized his patrols and defenses during the Siege. Without trying to help, Elurin had accidentally aided Thranduil and his army in protecting the Greenwood throughout the Third Age. 

And then Elurin and all of his people had sailed in the early years of the Fourth Age. But before they took ship on the Anduin from Ithilien-en-Edhil, Elurin’s wife Eirian had convinced her husband to leave the box of the twins’ jewels with the settlement’s harbor-master as a bequest for their grandson Theli. 

In retrospect, Thranduil really couldn’t blame Theli for having been afraid that the gift was cursed! Fortunately, it hadn’t been. But it had brought out the true story of what had happened to Elured and Elurin. Celeborn had learned that his adopted sons and their cousin were all his great-great-great nephews. And Thranduil had learned that his friend Theli was also his cousin. 

A cousin, Thranduil noted to himself as he watched a star fall from the midnight-blue night sky into the trees far to the west, whom he should really go and check on shortly. Thranduil sometimes found these evenings of formal revelry trying, and he had been dealing with them since he was an small elfling. Theli, until just a little over a decade ago, had simply left any party which he didn’t want to be at any longer. 

Theli had suggested at the family dinner yesterday that maybe he could just skip this particular banquet and reception. Thranduil had said no. Theli had appeared at dinner as ordered, adequately dressed and groomed, albeit looking a bit wild-eyed. Thranduil should probably reward that obedience and effort with a rescue in case it turned out that one was desired. 

Speaking of rescues, it seemed that Thranduil’s stepping away from the revelry had attracted attention of its own. The King didn’t turn away from his contemplation of the forest in the moonlight, but he knew his cousin Fileg’s step and presence well enough to be aware that he was no longer alone. 

“We’ll get there, Thranduil,” Fileg promised, looking out to the west-ward swaths of trees where Thranduil’s eyes – and Sauron’s influence - still lingered. 

“Do you know, Fileg?” Thranduil said, with a tone both disbelieving and relieved, “I really do believe that we will. I’m not as certain about what will come after. But I really do believe that we’ll finish what we set out to do.” 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Fileg scolded him, “All of it – the Siege, the blight – it didn’t happen because of you spreading that rumor that the Ring was in the Wood. We were already a target of the Necromancer’s. He and his came after all of the kingdoms who fought against him in the War of the Last Alliance.” 

“All of it didn’t happen JUST because of my decisions,” Thranduil corrected, “But I might have made it worse, with the actions I chose to take and the opportunities that I may have missed. No other kingdom suffered as much as our home.” 

“I know some people in Gondor who would dispute that statement,” Fileg pointed out. 

“They’re so young, gwador,” Thranduil protested, “Given what they know happened during their years, they are justified in believing as they do. Certainly, as Legolas’ heart-brother Faramir puts it, Gondor was a fire-breach between Middle Earth and Mordor these last few centuries. But our Wood was under siege for the better part of three thousand years.” 

“Do you know what I like about you?” Fileg said in a fond, philosophical manner, but Thranduil knew when he was being needled, “You never cut yourself any slack. And you never let anybody else do so either. Well, guess what, gwador laes-nin? You can’t stop me from thinking you a fool for blaming yourself for events which were NOT your fault.” 

“I can’t stop you thinking at all, Fileg,” Thranduil agreed with a wry smile of his own, “Even though all of us who love you do worry about how difficult and draining thinking can be for you.” 

“Haha,” said Fileg drolly, before taking a breath to say something else. Then Fileg huffed in surprise and his shoulders began to shake with genuine laughter. 

Thranduil, startled, turned away from his contemplation of the forest for the first time to see what had captured his gwador’s mercurial sense of humor this time. 

“Don't look now, gwador, but the errant healer you're trying to turn into a royal lord is busy disgracing your family again,” Fileg related with a chuckle. 

Thranduil rolled his eyes and suppressed an irritated growl, partly aimed at Theli, and partly at Fileg, who could be helping instead of laughing, curse it all. 

“Then he’s also embarrassing your family, too, cousin dear,” Thranduil taunted back, surveying the dancing and celebrating elves for their wayward younger cousin. 

It took Thranduil several moments to locate Theli. The blue-and-silver clad royal lord was on the other side of the cascading spring which burst out of the mountain-side wall of the castle’s roof terrace and then flowed down the middle of the gleaming natural limestone floor. Thranduil’s view of the apparently erring Theli was partially obscured by Aman Lanc. Well, by the sculpture of Aman Lanc. 

Halfway between the mountain wall and the furthest southwest point of the wide terrace balcony where Thranduil stood, the stream of water had been engineered to flow up into and then back down an elf-high fountain carved out of the white stone of the mountain and artistically sculpted into an excellent likeness of the elves’ second-age capital of Amon Lanc. 

Gleaming white quartz and pink-veined marble made up a scale-model sculpture of the King’s palace which had sat on top of the white hill. The trees of the palace were made out of semi-precious gems, tiger-eye and adventurine. Delicate flowers carved out of a rainbow of jewels decorated depicted the once-famous gardens. The the water of the spring fountained back down the hill of Amon Lanc where the river had once descended from the King’s palace down to the town at the base of the hill. 

Whether by accident or on purpose, Theli moved further out of Thranduil’s eye sight. The King had to walk forward several paces to get a clear view of more than Theli’s wavy ash-blond hair and healer’s braids. 

Thranduil noted with some sympathy that his recently claimed cousin had been brought to bay by a bevy of unmarried, relatively high ranking ellith. Theli’s manner was similar to that of a stag facing the hounds. But instead of politely excusing himself or gently dissuading his admirers, the ridiculous brat instead feigned a vacant expression utterly alien to his normally open, animated features. Then Theli took a goblet of red wine from a passing member of the wait staff and gulped the entire contents before dropping the bejeweled silver cup to the ground. 

Thranduil knew that Theli detested red wine and that the healer had never in his life drank himself to the point of incoherence. After growing up with a father who had spent so much of his son’s elflinghood in a chemical-induced haze, Theli avoided intoxication like it was a plague. He’d also never developed a taste for any but the sweetest of wine varietals. And Theli was normally far too respectful of the wait staff to purposely throw a cup on the ground, although he was also clumsy enough that dropping a cup by accident was almost expected in the course of a formal engagement. 

Surely enough, instead of swallowing the wine, Theli let most of it dribble back out of his mouth, down his chin, and onto his fine clothing. And the pre-existing stains on the silk undershirt and velvet tunic gave proof that this was not the first cup of fine wine to be so abused! 

Thranduil was temporarily wordless. Fileg, not so much. 

“I'm related to your mother's side of the family, not to the Kings of Doriath,” the blond ellon pointed out, still chuckling under his breath, “Theli isn't embarrassing me.” 

Now, Thranduil had to admit that being pursued like a prized stag was annoying. Seeing the feminine pursuit of Theli and also his unmarried cousin Rumil over the past decade and a half had made Thranduil grateful anew that he was happily married, even though he missed Minaethiel dearly even an age after her death. Thranduil knew in his heart that he would see his beloved wife again when he finally sailed West. 

By which time, Thranduil was bound and determined to teach his idiot of a younger cousin to act respectably in public! Thranduil had never dribbled wine all over himself in an attempt – and apparently a vain attempt – to deter and disgust ellith who had come a-courting. 

In fact, the King couldn’t even imagine how his own father – or mother – would have reacted had a younger Thranduil engaged in such an infantile and repellent display! He was certain, however, that Oropher would have had no patience for such behavior from his heir. And that his father’s lack of patience would have swiftly resulted in a memorable lecture and a long list of unpleasant chores for the erring Thranduil. 

The current King of the Greenwood attempted to catch his misbehaving cousin’s eyes, in order to convey to Theli his considerable displeasure. Quite sensibly, Theli was avoiding Thranduil’s gaze. The King was fairly sure it was deliberate. 

Thranduil took a calming breath. “Theli can be so very difficult,” he complained to Fileg, “Particularly when Nestorion isn’t about to remind him to behave like a respectable ellon in public.” 

“And the wine isn’t even the first thing he’s dribbled all over himself tonight,” Fileg noted merrily, “Those are soup stains on the laces of his tunic, I believe. Didn’t Lady Aglariel and her scheming father end up sitting next to him at dinner?” 

“They shouldn’t have done,” Thranduil replied irritably, “Aunt Calien’s standing direction is that Theli be sat next to at least one family member at formal dinners.” 

“Place cards can be altered,” Fileg remarked, with a more sympathetic glance towards the wine-stained young lord. Fileg, too, knew this particular danger of being an unwed royal lord from his own youth during the Second Age. Fileg sometimes jested that he had married his wife Calmarille so soon after the War of the Last Alliance just so that he wouldn’t be single after Minaethiel took Thranduil off the marriage market. 

“Mmm,” said Thranduil, making a note to follow up on that matter later while trying again to catch Theli’s eyes. The King had formed a strong emotional connection with his long-time friend and newly-found cousin. Calling on that bond, Thranduil was quite sure that Theli was aware that his King and elder kinsman wanted his attention. But Theli still avoided Thranduil’s gaze. 

Thranduil glared at Theli. Fileg chuckled again. 

“Fileg,” Thranduil commanded his useless gwador, “Please go and tell our cousin that he is excused from this gathering for the rest of this evening. And that he is to report to my apartments in exactly two hours. I have something which I wish to discuss with him.” 

“Oh, that will be welcome news to him, I'm sure,” Fileg said with another laugh. But he obeyed, crossing over the footbridge just beneath the Aman Lanc fountain and walking over to put a hand on Theli’s shoulder. 

Theli, who didn’t have Thranduil’s time-honed awareness of when Fileg was walking up behind him, was visibly startled. Thranduil watched as Fileg pulled Theli away from his admirers and then spoke to the younger ellon in a kind but firm manner. 

Theli finally sought out Thranduil’s gaze with a hurt puppy expression in his midnight blue eyes. 

Thranduil hardened his heart against that appeal. Theli wasn't truly an elfling or an idiot, and by acting like one in public, he disgraced the family. And Thranduil was surprised anew to find that he cared about that, cared about teaching his newly-found cousin how to behave so as not to embarrass the family, or himself. But care he did. 

How had that happened? Well, it had really started over an age ago, during the War of the Last Alliance. That was when Thranduil had first made friends, after however irregular a fashion, with a bumpkin of a wood-elf, an apprentice healer who also wanted to be a soldier.


	2. Unlikely Friends, or "Once upon a Ditch"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Last Alliance consumed the last of Thranduil’s youth, and the first of Theli’s. But it was during the war years that the two first became friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. Please carefully read the tags and warnings. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” ~ James Boswell

War of the Last Alliance, End of the Second Age 

In Thranduil Oropherion’s life, there was Before the War of the Last Alliance, and then there was After. Before the War, though he’d been an officer in his father’s mighty army and a working Crown Prince of the Greenwood, Thranduil had still been, in many ways, a young ellon. Yes, he’d fought and bled to protect his people, and he’d worked hard and learned much as the Aran Oropher’s heir. 

But he had never faced a task as terrifying and hopeless as standing across a battlefield from the second greatest evil Middle Earth had ever known. From the start, it wore daily on his spirit. They would battle across devastated terrain, fighting for days at a time. Then, sometimes, they would manage to win another league. Other times, the Enemy’s will would harden, and they would have to retreat a like distance. It was maddening to Thranduil both as a warrior, and as a strategist. 

Worse was the miasma of evil and despair that hung all about the land of Mordor, and fouled everything that Sauron’s army touched. How many times did Thranduil secretly rue having fought to convince his father and his father’s council to let him come? Aran Oropher had ordered that only those elven warriors who had been of age to fight in the War of the Men and Elves against Sauron in the middle of the Second Age might go with Greenwood’s Army to the War of the Last Alliance. 

Thranduil had not been old enough, and neither had a good seventy other young officers who had ultimately been permitted to come along. Oropher’s senior captains had informed their King that not being able to staff so many of their most promising young officers due to their age would make it difficult for them to satisfy the personnel requirements of the expedition. Oropher, responsive to his people, had allowed that exceptions could be made on a case-by-case basis for elven officers who had at least 12 yeni. Thranduil’s Mannish friends, including the young Princes of Arnor and Gondor, had marveled that a Greenwood elf had to be at least 1,728 years of age to even be considered eligible to fight in this War. 

“Well, Ciryon,” Thranduil’s cousin Elrond had asked the human prince mildly before Thranduil had a chance to voice his offense, “Would you send your brother Valandil to war?” 

“Of course not,” Isildur’s third son had bewilderedly objected, “He’s still a babe in arms!” 

“He is,” Elrond agreed kindly, “He’s also only 51 years younger than you are. I’m 1,658 years older than Thranduil. Please consider, if you will, how difficult it is for me to watch him go and risk his life.” 

“And my heir Elrond,” King Ereinion of Lindon had pointed out, “Is, in fact, the youngest elven commander.” 

“And at the tender age of 3,498 years of age,” said Elrond with only a small amount of sarcasm. 

“Watch yourself, baby-brother,” Aran Ereinion had rebuked, in the Noldorin language of Quenya. Given that most of the assembled spoke that tongue at least well enough to get by, Elrond’s gracious concession of the point was not a surprise. Thranduil hadn’t even understood how funny Elrond’s statement had been until his father later reminded him that King Ereinion was only 82 years older than their cousin Elrond. 

Thranduil had been very proud of himself for refraining from pointing out how both King Ereinion and cousin Elrond had been under 200 when they held commands in the Host of the Valar during the War of Wrath. Elrond hadn’t even been of age for an elf, at the start, although Elrond himself had long ago explained to Thranduil that peredhil didn’t age the same way as normal elves. 

While Thranduil sometimes secretly regretted being the youngest Greenwood officer in Mordor, his father Oropher at times volubly and emphatically regretted it! Most especially and ferociously after this most recent stunt of Thranduil’s. It was the prince’s new ‘most trouble I’ve ever been in before.’ Even weeks later, Thranduil was still amazed that he hadn’t been sent home. 

It had been a close thing. Thranduil had been waiting for word of his fate in the large pavilion he shared with his father, surrounded by his friends. Linwe, Fileg, and Veassen were all furious with Thranduil themselves for what he’d done, but they also knew how important being together with his people in their dire struggle was to him. 

It was Elrond who had first brought them word. 

“You’re staying, Thranduil, but it was a close thing,” the peredhel commander of the Imladrin levies had told him, a mixture of approbation, affection, and empathy in his blue-gray eyes. 

“And,” Captain Glorfindel, Elrond’s second-in-command, reported with appalling cheer, “You’ll be spending a great deal of time with me. In remedial strategy lessons, as well as the normal swordplay and arms lessons.” 

Part of Thranduil had wanted to dispute that it wasn’t strategy he had trouble with, clearly, but rather, hmm, impulse control? In any case, not being sure what he wanted to say had kept him out of more trouble with the great Glorfindel, who was by then nodding in a pleased way at what he saw as Thranduil’s humility and acceptance of his fate. 

The two had quickly taken their leave. 

“It’s best I’m gone before your father resturns,” Elrond had hastily explained to Thranduil, “I might have talked Isildur and Anarion into implying that it would weaken our alliance with the Men if Greenwood’s prince were to be sent home.” 

“And Elrond also might have gotten Erestor to make the same point through Ereinion,” Glorfindel pointed out, his bright blue eyes twinkling merrily. He left Oropher’s tent first, after clapping first Elrond and then Thranduil bracingly on their backs. There was a knack to accepting affection like that from the Balrog Slayer without starting to cough. Elrond had a better grasp on it than did Thranduil, so he was the first to get his breath back. 

“Don’t do anything like this again, Thranduil,” gray-eyed Elrond asked intently, “I won’t be able to help you again if you do. Not even if I wanted to.” 

“I won’t,” Thranduil promised, “And thank you, Elrond. I owe you for this.” 

Elrond began to wave that off, as Thranduil had expected. Then he stilled for a moment, his gray eyes going distant. At last he said, “I may hold you to that, Thranduil.” 

Elrond left before the young prince could ask what he meant by that. Thranduil’s father returned only half an hour later, and after that Thranduil had plenty to think about. And even more to do. In addition to his normal duties, the fighting, and Glorfindel-the-Believes-he’s-Great’s lessons in remedial strategy and military politics, Thranduil found himself spending what little free time he had left washing dishes, digging and covering privy trenches, and putting his hand to whatever other dirty and unpleasant chore his father, his uncle, and their general could come up with. 

It was a fairly miserable time for the young prince and lieutenant. On top of that, Thranduil found himself lonely for the first time in a very long time as he went about his punishment chores. 

Mostly because Thranduil hadn’t wanted to risk his friends’ lives with what he’d been about, and a little bit because he’d thought – apparently correctly – that they would have tried to stop him, he hadn’t involved them in it. That now meant that Thranduil had to go about all of his punishments alone, without anyone to share the misery. Oh, his friends did try their best to keep him company. Granted, sometimes that involved a lot more ‘I told you so’ and ‘you’re an idiot, gwador-laes’ than Thranduil really felt that he needed, but at least he wasn’t alone. 

But by his second week of digging and refilling privy trenches in the early evening, his friends had mostly managed to find other things to do during that time. At least during the refilling trenches portion of the fun. Thranduil couldn’t really blame them. But again, it was lonely. Thranduil almost didn’t know what to do with himself without Fileg, Veassen, or Linwe nearby him. 

Since digging and refilling privy trenches was pretty much the worst chore anyone could be assigned, most of Thranduil’s fellow workers were slack-off layabouts who wouldn’t do anything without the sergeant on-duty bellowing at them to get back to work or he’d send their useless hides back to the Greenwood where they could be somebody else’s problem. With respect to a good half dozen soldiers, Thranduil swiftly began to whole-heartedly hope that the sergeant would send them home. 

That particular sergeant’s name was Medlithor, and Thranduil rather liked him. They’d never met before, but Thranduil liked how Medlithor treated all of the elves assigned to his supervision fairly. At least until they proved themselves to be lazy half-wits, at least. After the first night, Medlithor mostly left Thranduil alone to his work. Later that week he even pulled Thranduil aside to ask him what in the Belain’s name he was even doing there. 

“You’ve worked more in six nights than most of this lot have worked in a dozen,” Medlithor told Thranduil bluntly, “Tell me who sent you here, and I’ll go have a word with him.” 

“Ah,” Thranduil said as he searched for words, “Thank you, Sergeant Medlithor. Really. But General Rochendil sent me himself. I’m fairly sure that he meant for me to be here until he says I’m done.” 

Sergeant Medlithor blinked in surprise, then gave Thranduil a weighing look. Thranduil was rather used to that look, or rather to expressions like it. It was the way in which most reasonable military officers looked at Thranduil when they figured out that he was ‘that’ Thranduil. He didn’t go by the father-name Oropherion as a soldier, for safety reasons, and there were a lot of soldiers named ‘Thranduil’ in the Greenwood who were about Thranduil’s age. But not many of them were personally assigned chores by the General himself. 

“I . . . see,” Sergeant Medlithor said at last, and then, “Well, I’m sure that the General knows what he’s doing. I will tell him that you’ve done good work here, why ever you’re here. Maybe he’ll decide that you’ve paid your debt sooner rather than later.” 

“Maybe,” said Thranduil dubiously, and then, “Thank you,” since Medlithor was going out of his way to help Thranduil. 

“I’d do it for anyone on latrine duty who actually took it seriously,” Medlithor told him, and Thranduil was quite sure that the elf meant it. 

So Medlithor wasn’t that bad, which was mostly a good thing. However, once Thranduil’s friends realized that too, they were even less likely to keep him company on latrine digging nights. 

Thranduil frequently found himself with no one to talk to, except sometimes Sergeant Medlithor. Thranduil’s work ethic – even when it came to digging ditches – and his resulting easy relationship with Sergeant Medlithor set Thranduil apart from his fellow workers even more than his relatively high rank of lieutenant did. 

The prince was the only the lieutenant on their work detail, and he was not popular. The officer’s braids on his uniform might have been enough by themselves to put the other soldiers’ noses out of joint. Thranduil was fairly sure that none of them had realized who he was, besides a lieutenant who had somehow badly – very badly - stepped on the toes of some senior officer. 

Nor was Thranduil’s high non-military rank immediately apparent just from looking at him. He was tall, but no taller than may other ellyn. He had a swordsman’s athletic build rather than a wrestler’s bulk, but that was not uncommon amongst Greenwood’s warrior elves. He wore his hair in a house braid as well as a warrior’s braid, but there were very few elves who would even recognize the style in which the male heirs of Elmo were wont to wear their hair. And many elves could afford the small sapphires, emeralds, beryls, and moonstones which Thranduil wore interwoven in his warrior’s braids. 

Even Thranduil’s golden hair and intense sapphire-hued eyes were not that remarkable. Many Silvan elves had hair of varying shades between white-blond, silver, and gold. Blue eyes were quite common as well. Nor was such coloring unusual amongst the Iathrim, the survivors of Thranduil’s distant uncle Elu’s kingdom of Doriath and their descendants, who formed the Greenwood’s largest minority population. Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, for instance, was also blond and blue-eyed, though both shades were less vibrant than Thranduil’s.

Thranduil missed Fileg during his long hours of ditch digging. And Veassen, the gwador who was their dark shadow with his chestnut hair and kind brown eyes. Thranduil would even have welcomed the disapproving company of his oldest blood-brother Linwe, whose keen jade eyes still reflected his disappointment and irritation with Thranduil for the prince’s latest misadventure. Linwe’s temper could burn as hot as his flame-red hair, but Thranduil knew that his gwador’s anger sprung not from dislike but rather from the depth of his affection and protectiveness for Thranduil. 

Besides his gwedyr and his several cousins, Thranduil didn’t really make friends easily. Early experiences had taught him that once other elves knew who he was, they often befriended him only because they wanted something from him, even if it was just the cachet of being in his company. And even if other soldiers had no idea that Thranduil was the prince, he still found himself an object of jealousy for his skill with a blade and his strategic achievements, both of which he had labored mightily– and continued to work hard – to develop and hone. 

It was during the tenth night he’d ended up with the odiferous chore of latrine digging that Thranduil first met Theli. They didn’t talk much at first, not beyond Thranduil’s giving the much shorter elf directions on where to dig and how deep, as he did with all the other soldiers Medlithor delegated to his command. 

But the short elf was from the beginning remarkable to Thranduil amongst the company they found themselves in, for it was immediately clear that Theli was taking their work seriously. Although he’d also lacked anywhere near Thranduil’s experience with a shovel, which had made him a bit of a hazard to himself and others until he caught onto the trick of not throwing dirt into the next fellow’s face while working. It only took the better part of an hour for Theli to pick that up, which wasn’t a bad learning curve for someone who didn’t look like a habitual trouble-maker. It must be noted that Thranduil didn’t know Theli well at that point. And, as Theli’s advocates would point out, he was more of a trouble-finder than a trouble-maker. 

During one of the regular breaks from their labor called by Sergeant Medlithor, Thranduil noticed the smaller elf shaking his hands and then frowning at his new blisters. 

“Where are your gloves?” Thranduil asked him. 

“Gloves?” the short elf asked in an accented voice, lifting his ash-blond head to regard Thranduil with a faint frown and the darkest blue eyes the prince had ever seen, “I don’t think that I have gloves.” 

At first, Thranduil was too taken aback by the little elf’s familiar accent to muster any reply at all. When Thranduil had been a very young soldier, he’d spent his first distant posting at Meordanas, a town near the White Mountains in the very north of the Greenwood. One of the friends he’d made there, Soldier Adan, had spoken with the same liquid accent, though Adan’s had been much fainter. Adan’s accent had marked him as being from the isolated villages far to the North and East of the Greenwood. 

The people Adan had been born to still called themselves the Nandor, and were the most solitude-loving of all the woodland elves. They had never sworn allegiance to Thranduil’s father Oropher. Instead, their villages were protected by a powerful elf, one whom the silvan elves from the northeast of the Greenwood called the ‘Witch of the Northern Woods.’ 

The sons and daughters who chose to leave their reclusive Nandorin people for new lives elsewhere were forever banned from returning to their birth home. They had to give up everything of their old life, even their family names. To Thranduil, who loved both his family and his career dearly, it was unimaginable to be forced to choose between the two. Yet choose Adan had, giving up his family and his father name to be Adan Erynion, husband to a beautiful Silvan elleth Merendes and a soldier in Greenwood’s army. 

The patronymic “Erynion” meant ‘forest-son,’ and it was used by those who had no father to give them a name. ‘Bastard’ some called them, although not in front of Thranduil. Not once he’d known Adan. 

Adan had died as Junior Officer Adan Erynion, during the first year of the War. Thranduil himself had written the letter notifying and consoling Adan’s widow Merendes and their children. Thank the Belain, Adan’s sons, both soldiers, had been too young to come with the army and were still stationed in the relative peace and safety of the Wood. Raised from birth in a Greenwood town, neither of those sons spoke with Adan’s strange, soft accent. 

Elves like Adan who left the safety of the Witch’s villages to be part of greater Greenwood were a rarity. And so Thranduil was momentarily shaken to hear Adan’s accent from this small stranger’s mouth. 

“You came to dig ditches without gloves?” Sergeant Medlithor barked at the Nandorin elf. 

“Umm . . . yes?” The short elf answered, with a baffled look at Medlithor. In his confusion, the Nandorin elf looked ridiculously young to Thranduil, far younger than any of the elves his father Oropher had permitted to come to the War. The prince comforted himself with the thought that this elf’s diminutive height, combined with his heart-shaped face, pert nose, and wide eyes simply made him appear young. He couldn’t possibly be as much an elfling as he seemed to Thranduil in that moment. 

Sergeant Medlithor said something pithy that Thranduil made a note to remember for later use, then pulled off his own gloves to hand to the blue-eyed elf. 

“Oh, I can’t take these, Seryent,” the Nandorin elf protested, “I might get them dirty.” 

“Better my gloves dirty than your hands blistered, Apprentice Healer Erynion,” Sergeant Medlithor scolded, “and it’s Ser-geant,” he corrected the Nandorin elf’s pronunciation of his military rank. 

“Ser-geant,” the blue-eyed elf carefully repeated as he accepted the gloves and put them on. 

When they returned to their task, Thranduil took the time to show the Nandorin elf where his hands should go on the shovel. 

“Here, and here,” the prince explained, “And keep the pressure more here,” he said, lightly touching the elf’s gloves to show him where his hand should hold the shovel, “This way you’ll get fewer blisters.” 

“Thank you,” the blue-eyed elf said, in his heavily accented Sindarin. He smiled at Thranduil, too, a bright, happy expression that marked him out again in Thranduil’s mind as someone different from most of the soldiers the prince came into contact with during his various punishment duties. 

Thranduil was sadly accustomed to elves responding to finding out that he was the prince by either flattering him or being extra rude to him. So Thranduil tried to comfort himself that it was at the least somewhat novel to have the other soldiers on punishment duty take offense to Thranduil because he worked hard, and then later because Medlithor left Thranduil in charge one night when he had to go and fulfill other duties. Well, the other soldiers besides the little blue-eyed healer, who hummed as he dug with as much energy as he could put into the task and wasn’t otherwise paying much attention to any of them. 

If Medlithor with his higher rank hadn’t been able to get more than grudging work out of these idiots, then Thranduil didn’t expect that he’d be able to do much better. He was still slightly surprised that one of them – the permanently sneering Soldier Loendir - had the guts to accidentally-on-purpose try to shove Thranduil into a privy trench which they were supposed to be filling! Not expected such an assault in the midst of fellow Greenwood soldiers, Thranduil had only managed to twist one side of his body out of danger. 

“Hey!” shouted the little healer in objection. Even as he spoke he was grabbing Thranduil by the upper arm and yanking him out of the smelly ditch before more than just the bottom of Thranduil’s one boot became fouled. 

“What the blazes were you thinking?” the healer demanded of Soldier Loendir, his cobalt-blue eyes bright with indignation. He let go of Thranduil and then walked over to shake the hilt of his shovel in Loendir’s face, “What is wrong with you? Are you a . . . .” the words which followed were completely unknown to Thranduil, but the tone and implication were not. The prince made a note to ask what the words meant later. 

Loendir’s face was darkening, and his hands were clenching into fists. Though the short healer was much stronger than he looked since he could pull Thranduil bodily out of the way of a privy trench, he was still unlikely to be a match for a soldier who was almost Thranduil’s height and heavier. 

Thranduil grabbed the collar of the little healer’s tunic with one hand, and a quiver loop on the back of Loendir’s uniform with the other. Then the prince yanked them apart and focused his attention on Loendir. 

“Soldier Loendir, you’re on report for assault,” Thranduil told the layabout. 

“Now wait a minute, Lieutenant,” Loendir objected, “It was an accident, I swear!” 

“The . . . . . .. . . it was!” The healer objected, stamping one foot in indignation, “And do you know how dangerous it is to fool around with sewage? The reason that they make everyone who does this wash with that harsh soap afterward is because of the sickness being around this stuff can cause. Tossing someone into it more than qualifies as an attack!” 

“Nobody is going to believe that was an accident, Loendir,” one of the idiot’s friends pointed out in the wake of the short healer’s impassioned protest, “Might as well take your knock before you talk yourself into worse.” 

“That sounds like good advice, Soldier,” said Thranduil mildly, “But by all means, please feel free to try me when I am paying attention, if you’d like to take a shot. No? I thought not. Report to your sergeant, and tell him what you’ve been up to. I’ll expect to receive a report from him tomorrow. If I don’t, then I’ll ask Sergeant Medlithor to follow up. And neither of us want me to have to do that.” 

“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant,” Loendir quickly assured Thranduil. With a salute, the fool headed off. Hopefully to do as he’d been ordered, but Thranduil would just have to wait and see on that. 

As the others got back to their work, Thranduil turned his attention to the healer. 

Letting go of the short elf’s collar, the prince said, “Thank you. That would have been an . . . unpleasant way to spend the rest of the evening.” 

“That soldier is an ass,” the healer replied with a grin, “Thank you for not being one. This ditch-digging would be much worse if someone like Loindeer were in charge.” 

“It’s Lo-en-dir,” Thranduil corrected gently, trying to hide a smile. 

“Lo-en-deer,” The healer repeated obediently. 

“Close enough,” allowed Thranduil, who wouldn’t really mind Loendir being called Loin-deer. 

The blue-eyed healer smiled again. Then he carefully took off a mismatched glove, and held his right hand out to Thranduil, “I’m Theli.” 

Familiar with this Nandorin practice, which was interestingly enough also a Mannish one, Thranduil grasped Theli’s hand and shook it, offering his own name in reply. Thranduil didn’t usually give his name out, not wanting to be identified as the prince when he could avoid it. There were plenty of Thranduil’s, of course, but even so. 

During a break later that night after Sergeant Medlithor had reappeared and resumed command, a bored Thranduil asked, “Theli is rather an odd name. Is it Nandorin?” 

“No,” the small healer answered, shaking his head like a Man, “It’s from Gondolin. Theli is a, um, . . . .?” Thranduil didn’t recognize the term. 

The healer tilted his head and thought, “A short name? For Ecthelion. After the other Balrog slayer. He was my mother’s favorite hero.” 

“A nickname,” Thranduil supplied, thinking that he should maybe mention to Captain Glorfindel that he’d met an elf named after the captain’s dear friend, whom Glorfindel had once or twice mentioned deserved more recognition. But maybe not. Mentioning anything having to do with Gondolin to Glorfindel was a chancy business at best. 

“Nick-name,” Theli repeated carefully. Then he made a frustrated face and complained, “Sindarin has so many words.” 

“Adunaic is worse,” Thranduil said, without much sympathy. He’d been forced to learn how to speak four languages fluently, seven fairly well, and another dozen at least well enough to be able to exchange greetings and ask for a translator without causing offense. 

“‘A-du-nay-ik.’ Who speaks that?” Theli asked interestedly. 

“The Men from Numenor.” 

“Where?” 

“The island that sank into the sea,” said Thranduil, and then told the story when it was clear that Theli knew only pieces of it at best. 

Then it was time to get back to work. They talked a little bit more, Thranduil and Theli, over the next several nights. Mostly Thranduil asking what the words Theli was saying when he cursed meant, and Theli blushing brilliantly as he tried to translate the colorful terms into Sindarin. Thranduil’s command of the more common Silvan tongues was pretty good, so between the two of them they could usually figure out a reasonable translation.

Thranduil’s gwedyr, his human friends, and the soldiers he commanded were actually rather impressed with their prince and lieutenant’s newly expanded vocabulary. Some of their admiration was even tinged with a small amount of jealousy, because Thranduil had declined to explain to Fileg, Linwe, and the human princes where he’d gained his recently enhanced repertoire of colorful language. So far as Thranduil was concerned, if his friends had cared enough to be with him when he was digging privy trenches, then they’d know. The prince was even thinking he might regret seeing Theli and hearing the younger elf’s creative language and cheerful chatter whenever his stint at punishment duties finally came to an end. Thranduil would most certainly not miss the chores, but he might miss Theli, and Medlithor. At least a little. 

Still, if it hadn’t been for Sergeant Medlithor getting injured and Sergeant Caidor taking his place, and then Sergeant Caidor failing to grasp even the rudiments of sanitation, Thranduil and Theli might have parted company after their respective punishment duties were over and never spoken again. Not out of a lack of respect or regard, but just because the path of a Crown Prince who was also an officer and the path of an apprentice healer rarely crossed. 

But Sergeant Medlithor did get hurt, and Sergeant Caidor did unwillingly take his place. And Sergeant Caidor was an ass. Thranduil wouldn’t go so far as to describe him as ‘the scum of the army,’ which was Captain Glorfindel’s ultimate epithet for those undeserving of the high honor of military service. However, Caidor was one of those elves whom Thranduil suspected might have gone into the army just to have the opportunity to bellow at, belittle, and boss around other elves. 

Sergeant Caidor also didn’t believe in giving elves on a punishment detail rest breaks. That was fine enough with Thranduil, but some of the less fit soldiers were huffing and puffing and coughing by the middle of the night. When Loendir – who had been much improved by a stern talking-to from h is sergeant   
and a day spent helping the healers deal with dysentery patients – started vomiting from overwork and excessive exposure to strong odors, it was Theli who grabbed his shovel and went to talk to Sergeant Caidor. 

“You have to give us breaks,” the little healer told the hulking great sergeant, “Or we’ll get sick. And then I’ll tell the other healers WHY we got sick.” 

Sergeant Caidor looked at Theli like the healer was some kind of bug, then ordered, “Go back to work, you! And pray to whatever Valar you woodland heathens worship that I don’t make you stay late.” 

“You can make me stay late,” said Theli resolutely, “Because Master Nestorion said I had to listen to whatever officer was in charge. But you can’t make me not tell the healer on duty that you’re making people sick just because you want to get finished with this earlier.” 

Sergeant Caidor then decided that the better part of valor was to start giving them breaks. Thranduil didn’t blame him. No one wanted to get on the wrong side of the healers. But Caidor also started hassling Theli whenever he could think of an excuse, and punishing the healer for disrespect by not letting him take breaks. 

“I can have a word with his superior if you’d like,” Thranduil quietly offered to Theli when they were back to digging. 

“No,” said the healer stubbornly, “Bad smells don’t bother me much, and I don’t get tired easily. And I don’t want to give Sergeant Ass the satisfaction.” 

That was so similar to things that Thranduil had done over the years that it gave the prince a chuckle, although he did feel it his responsibility to point out, “So you’ll stand up for the group, but not for yourself?” 

Theli gave Thranduil a surprised look, “I stood up for the ones who needed help. I’m fine.” 

“Hmm,” Thranduil answered noncommittally, making a note to keep an eye on Theli and make sure that he stayed ‘fine.’ Thranduil also spared a moment of sympathy for everyone who had ever lectured HIM for standing up for himself and not for others. 

That number included his gwedyr. After they realized that an ass had taken Sergeant Medlithor’s place, they made sure that one of them would always show up to keep Thranduil company. Sergeant Caidor did not care for that. But by then he’d figured out who Thranduil was, so he didn’t seem inclined to protest. 

That particular night it was Veassen keeping Thranduil company. Even though Thranduil appreciated the companionship and support, he still tried his best to send Veassen away for Veassen’s own good. Thranduil’s gwador was looking more than a little green, even though he wasn’t digging or close to the worst of the smell. 

“You can’t send me away, gwador,” Veassen pointed out, while carefully breathing through his mouth and not his nose, “You’re the one on punishment detail, not me. You don’t have any authority over me right now. I, unlike you, am at liberty to go wherever I please. And right now, it pleases me to be here.” 

Thranduil rolled his eyes, “Fine. But don’t complain to me when you get sick.” 

Theli, who’d been denied his break again, caught Thranduil’s attention and then tossed him a small leather pouch. 

“Peppermint ointment,” the healer explained, “For your friend. If he puts a little under his nose, it will block some of the smell.” 

“Thank you,” said Thranduil on Veassen’s behalf, handing the pouch to his friend. 

“Thranduil, is that an apprentice’s badge on that healer’s robe?” Veassen quietly asked, after tossing the pouch back to Theli with a thank you of his own. 

“I suppose so,” Thranduil answered. He hadn’t really noticed. 

“I didn’t think that the army took apprentices,” his friend mused, “how old is he?” 

“I don’t know,” said Thranduil, a little bit curious about that himself now that Veassen had brought it up, “He seems young, but he can’t be that much younger than we are. For non-combatants, I think Ada finally agreed to lower the age to ten yeni, after the Smiths’ Guild complained that second time. So, he can’t be younger than 1,440.” 

But asking about Theli’s age went entirely out of Thranduil’s mind when Theli got into another fight with Sergeant Caidor. This confrontation was much louder and emotional than their past interactions, and neither elf was backing down. The new conflict began when their work detail was almost done with the trench that they had been refilling, such that Sergeant Caidor had just pointed out to them where they were to start digging a new trench. 

Theli had taken one look at where the new trench was planned to go, and then had flatly refused to dig it. Or to let anyone else start digging it, either. He and Caidor were going back and forth about it. 

“You’ll follow orders, Healer Erynion!” Caidor commanded loudly, “Belain help me, if you don’t, I’ll see you digging ditches ‘til dawn, healer or not!” 

“No, I’m not going to follow your orders, because half of the Men’s camp will get sick if I do!” Theli yelled back at Caidor. 

“You must be deaf and half-witted to boot, Healer!” the Sergeant bellowed in reply, his face flushed with fury, “You have ten seconds to apologize and start digging that trench! If you don’t, I swear that I’ll keep you here until dawn, and then I’ll make you run laps ‘round the camp!” 

Except for his worry over Theli, Thranduil was rather enjoying the show. In fact, he was biting the side of his mouth to keep from laughing as he watched the elfling -well, as much of an elfling as the army had brought to Mordor – berating a sergeant as if the high-ranking officer were an erring stable boy. In fact, Theli somewhat resembled Thranduil's cousin Elrond in what Glorfindel called “one of his moods.” 

While Theli argued with Caidor, progress on their digging detail had entirely come to a halt. 

"Lieutenant Oropherion," Veassen teased Thranduil, more amused than angry, "Are you having a problem with your assigned task?"

“Very funny, Vea,” Thranduil replied, leaning on his shovel and watching Sergeant Caidor to make sure that the ass didn’t do anything too stupid. It occurred to Thranduil that a more senior healer could sort this whole matter out quickly. 

With that in mind, Thranduil turned back to Veassen, “Vea, please go and fetch Master Nestorion. Unless someone shows up to either back Theli up or tell him he’s wrong, I think we’ll be here all night.” 

“Theli?” Veassen questioned, raising one chestnut eyebrow. 

“The little healer.” 

“Oh. Nestorion, do you think? Not Master Telfindir?” 

“He’s busy tonight, Theli said,” Thranduil explained, “A second surgery on Sergeant Medlithor’s leg.” Theli had actually gone into disturbing details on complex fractures and tendon tears and other rather unsettling things. Thranduil hadn’t been too disappointed at that particular moment when Sergeant Caidor had told Theli to shut his fool mouth and stop being a useless waste of breath. 

The yelling between Theli and Sergeant Caidor reached a new high volume, and Thranduil looked at Veassen again, “Nestorion, Vea,” he repeated firmly. 

Veassen nodded, and set off at a good pace. Like Thranduil, he was aware that unless it was just after a battle, or one of the royal family was hurt, Nestorion generally had more time on his hands than most of the other master healers at the war camp. And a master healer would be able to cut through this nonsense faster than anyone else. 

In the meantime, all the noise had attracted the attention of a captain. Thranduil recognized the officer as Captain Enedir, once a soldier of the Sindar. He’d been just newly promoted to captain in the wake of recent battle losses, so Thranduil didn’t know him very well yet. 

“What seems to be the problem here, Sergeant Caidor?” Captain Enedir inquired. 

Caidor was almost purple with rage, “This brat of a healer’s apprentice is refusing to follow orders!” he complained to the captain, gesturing towards the unrepentant Theli. 

Theli rolled his eyes, “I’m refusing to follow your orders because they would result in mass illness.” 

“Apprentice,” Captain Enedir scolded Theli, “I’m sure that Sergeant Caidor is following the orders he’s been given for the layout of the privy trenches. Someone would have noticed if those orders had been poorly designed.” 

Theli stared at Captain Enedir and then Sergeant Caidor in disbelief, “He is ordering us to dig that trench in a DIRECT LINE between this hill, and the nearest source of fresh water!” the healer exclaimed. 

When the two officers just looked at him, Theli dropped his shovel and threw up his arms in exasperation. 

“Are you blind?” The little blue-eyed healer inquired incredulously. “If we dig the trench there, the sewage is going to drain DOWN the hill, INTO the creek, which then flows downstream through the Arnorian, Gondorian, and Lothlorien camps.” 

“So?” retorted Sergeant Caidor callously, while Captain Enedir looked thoughtful. 

Theli’s eyes widened, “So? So OUR FRIENDS take their drinking water from there, you . . ..” 

Thranduil was fairly sure that what Theli had just called Sergeant Caidor translated roughly to ‘worm-ridden half-witted son of a diseased mule and a perverted skunk,’ which wasn’t even physically possible, so far as Thranduil knew. Theli had said it in Nandorin, so Caidor probably didn’t understand it, but the tone and the inference came across clearly enough. 

Then the sergeant back-handed Theli, which went beyond the pale. Thranduil caught the small elf before he could fall into anything unfortunate. The Nandorin healer was holding one hand against his no-doubt stinging cheek, and staring at Sergeant Caidor in shocked, hurt disbelief. 

Even Caidor obviously knew that he’d gone too far. That type of assault wasn’t permitted even in the normal course of military discipline, and Theli was a non-combatant. A healer, even. And it was hard for all of the armies, including Greenwood’s, to find and keep healers who could handle the heart-wrenching toll of battle field service. 

Thranduil felt the presence of Veassen returning and gave a silent sigh of relief. Captain Enedir was even now taking Sergeant Caidor to task for assaulting the healer, but Thranduil didn’t want to take any chances. He kept one arm around the unusually quiet Theli’s shoulders as he turned to see whether Veassen had been successful at locating a Master Healer. 

Veassen had. Thranduil gave his gwador a nod of thanks as Master Healer Nestorion swept onto the scene with the quiet Veassen in his wake. Thranduil’s favorite healer – well, tied with his cousin Elrond – was a tall, handsome elf, with shadow-blue eyes and honey-brown hair. His normally immaculate indigo-blue healer’s robes were just the slightest bit wrinkled, which said more loudly than words that Veassen must have woken Nestorion to bring him here. Thranduil hid a wince at that realization. 

Nestorion’s healer’s robes boasted a badge depicting the royal seal of Greenwood, which denoted his status as the kingdom’s chief royal healer. Although he was not a warrior, Nestorion had quietly made it clear that he would be coming to Mordor with Greenwood’s Army, because Oropher and Thranduil would be part of that army. Despite being a no-nonsense type of elf, Nestorion’s manner was usually warm as well as competent and reassuring, especially around Thranduil. But in this moment only the competence was present, and that aggressively so, as the Master Healer looked coolly around at Thranduil, Theli, the arguing officers, and the various lay-abouts on punishment duty.

Theli, who had been staying close to Thranduil, made a startled squeak-like sound when he saw Nestorion. Then he moved his hand away from his hurt cheek, straightened up, and tried to take a step away from Thranduil. 

Thranduil, who wasn’t in the mood to have the young, mouthy healer clash with Sergeant Caidor again, grabbed Theli’s right upper arm to hold him still. 

“Captain. Sergeant. Apprentice Ecthelion,” Nestorion demanded in a firm, even tone of voice, “Just what may I ask is going on here?” 

When no answer was immediately forthcoming from any of those parties, Nestorion looked to Thranduil and prompted, “Lieutenant?” 

Thranduil stood to attention and reported, “Sergeant Caidor, who is in charge of this work detail, directed us to dig a new privy trench just there,” Thranduil stopped to point to the place between the hill and the creek which had been the catalyst for so much conflict. 

“And Apprentice Healer Ecthelion objected,” Nestorion correctly deduced.

Coolly, the master healer turned to instruct the two high-ranking officers, “As he well should have. Captain, Sergeant, putting a privy trench there would be a disastrous decision. If it were to rain, or the waste were to overflow the trench at all, it would flow down hill into the stream, fouling the water supply to the south end of our camp, and the camps of the Men and Lorien elves further south of here.” 

Captain Enedir coughed uncomfortably, and then said, “Thank you, Master Healer, for the advice. We’ll, ah, just have to find a different place for the trench. Do you, ah, have any suggestions?” 

Nestorion’s eyes flared with surprise and then narrowed with irritation, “I have only just arrived, Captain. I am insufficiently familiar with the topography of the camp as a whole, and therefore lack the necessary information to assist you with this endeavor. Given adequate time, I am sure that Apprentice Healer Ecthelion would be happy to make a study of the issue and share his suggestions with me and his other superiors. We could then confer and finalize a list of appropriate locations. Must a decision be made tonight?” 

“Ah . . . .” replied Enedir uncomfortably, in the tone of an elf who had no idea. He turned his attention to Sergeant Caudor, clearly expecting an answer. 

“I was told that we had to complete a new trench before I dismissed the detail, Sir,” Caudor supplied, in the meekest tone that Thranduil had ever heard from the pugnacious officer. 

The royal lieutenant wasn’t in the mood to do Caudor any favors, but he also wanted to sleep at some point, so he proposed, “What about a new trench beside the one we dug last night? There was space,” Thranduil recalled. Then he turned to Theli, “Would you see any problem with expanding there?” 

Theli shook his head, then winced and put his hand back up to cradle his injured cheek. Nestorion’s eyes narrowed at the gesture. Theli’s own eyes widened at Nestorion’s scrutiny, and he quickly put his hand down, as if he hadn’t meant to give away that he was hurting. Thranduil, who was very familiar with such behavior, found it odd to see Nestorion having to play detective with respect to some other elf’s injuries. 

The prince put that thought aside, because he had a job to do. Addressing Captain Enedir more than Sergeant Caudor, Thranduil suggested, “I believe that it would be best for us to go dig a trench in that location tonight, then the detail could be dismissed directly afterward. Unless you have an objection, Sirs?” 

“No objection, Lieutenant,” said Captain Enedir, seeming relieved that someone knew what was supposed to be going on. This impression was reinforced when the umber-haired officer continued, “In fact, Lieutenant, since you seem to have a good grasp on what’s going on here, you take command of this detail for the rest of the evening. Sergeant Caudor and I are required elsewhere. I trust that no one has an objection to that?” 

Unsurprisingly, no one did. 

After the two senior officers took their leave, Nestorion turned to regard Thranduil. His affection for the prince was clearly evident in his eyes, as was his pride in Thranduil. The prince wasn’t sure what he’d done to be proud of, but it was pleasant to have one of the elves he admired be pleased with what Thranduil had done, rather than horrified with what he’d recently been doing. 

“Lieutenant,” Nestorion respectfully addressed Thranduil, “I would like to borrow my apprentice for a few minutes.”

“He’s all yours,” Thranduil said, with feeling, as he shoved Theli with careful strength in Nestorion’s direction. Yes, Theli had saved a lot of trouble and maybe even some lives tonight, but he could have been more diplomatic about it. They were all already awake a good half-hour later then they would otherwise have been. It wasn’t really Theli’s fault, but still, he’d been the catalyst, at least. 

Theli didn’t try to struggle away, but he did give Thranduil a slightly miffed look back over his shoulder. That took Thranduil by surprise, because it had no hint of actual anger in it. When Thranduil forgot himself and said something cutting, he was accustomed to casual acquaintances taking deep offense. Yet Theli’s manner was more that of a friend chiding another friend for speaking out of turn. 

Despite not knowing exactly what prompted him to do so, Thranduil reached out and gently clasped Theli’s nearer shoulder. Then, half in apology, and half because the apprentice more than deserved praise for his bravery and persistence that night, Thranduil told him, “you did well to prevent our allies getting sick, Theli. Next time, try a little more tact when you point out errors to superior officers.” 

In the background, Veassen chuckled, his chocolate brown eyes dancing with merriment. Thranduil wasn’t exactly sure why, but he suspected it had something to do with the fact that his gwedyr seemed to think that Thranduil himself wasn’t good at being tactful. He made a mental note to tell Veassen that he wasn’t good for Thranduil’s authority. 

“But I WAS polite,” Theli protested. While Thranduil did his best to hide an incredulous smile, Theli amended in a somewhat abashed manner, “Well, I was polite the first two times, at least. Polite-ish.” 

Thranduil arched one golden brow in disbelief, and then repeated word-for-word the Nandorin phrase Theli had used to describe Sergeant Caudor during their argument. Thranduil was fairly sure that it roughly translated to ‘worm-ridden half-witted son of a diseased mule and a perverted skunk.’ 

Master Nestorion’s jaw actually dropped open at that, a reaction which even Thranduil had to exceed his normal efforts at being a difficult patient to achieve. 

“Ecthelion Erynion!” Nestorion scolded with deep disappointment, “If soap weren’t a precious commodity right now, I would wash your mouth out! You WILL apologize to that Sergeant.” 

“Good idea, Theli,” agreed Thranduil sardonically, “You can do it when you’re called to testify at Sergeant Caudir’s discipline hearing for backhanding you across the field.” 

Then Thranduil ducked down a little bit so that he could meet the young healer’s midnight blue eyes directly. In the same manner in which he would speak to one of his own young soldiers, Thranduil instructed Theli firmly, “Nothing that you said or did justified him hitting you. I hope that you know that.” 

“He HIT you?” Nestorion exclaimed, horror and shock warring with incipient fury on his normally dignified face. That took Thranduil by surprise again. Nestorion was hardly ever overset. 

And it was strange for Thranduil to see Nestorion plying his trade as a healer with an elf who wasn’t Thranduil or one of his cousins or friends. 

Theli sighed in resignation, but dutifully tilted his head so that Nestorion could get a better look at his injured cheek. Thranduil would have fought receiving a healer’s attention, even Nestorion’s, a little harder. But maybe being a healer himself made Theli a better patient. 

Meanwhile Nestorion handled Theli with the same gentle but thorough care he’d always shown when attending to Thranduil. It was rather odd for the prince to watch. 

“He didn’t hit me that hard,” Theli mumbled, when Nestorion had finished his inspection. “It didn’t hurt nearly as much as getting thrown to the ground and squished by cousin Emlyn. Or when my back got cut open last month. That HURT.” 

“Who cut your back open?” Thranduil asked, much taken aback. 

Theli blushed and sighed and then looked down to the ground. 

When Thranduil looked to Nestorion for an answer, the Master Healer sighed, too. Then he said, “It’s a long story, Thranduil. Do you have any objection if I take Apprentice Healer Ecthelion with me to treat his cheek? He’s going to have a spectacular bruise tomorrow, but it might heal more quickly if I can get ice on it soon enough.” 

“I have no objection,” Thranduil readily replied, “Theli more than carried his own weight tonight, rudeness notwithstanding.” 

Theli, meanwhile, had found a bone to pick with Nestorion, “There’s no point wasting ice for this, Master. It’s not so bad.” 

“Stop fussing, Ecthelion,” Nestorion said briskly, “That isn’t your decision to make.” 

Theli frowned, which on his heart shaped face almost resembled a pout, and then protested again, “I don’t want the ice.” 

Nestorion completely ignored Theli in favor of requesting of Thranduil, “I’d like to send my apprentice to his bed directly after his injury is treated. I trust that you can do without him for the rest of the evening?” 

“Of course,” Thranduil replied, because what other answer was there, really? It was fairly clear that Nestorion was only asking to be polite and show proper respect for Thranduil’s position as lieutenant. Which Thranduil appreciated, of course. Veassen could learn something from Nestorion, in fact. 

Theli wrinkled his nose in disgust, then winced again because contorting his face in that way must have tugged on his swelling cheek, which Thranduil was aware of from years of experience with fighting and getting hit in the face. 

Undaunted, Theli objected, “Master Nestorion, I can finish with this shift. Really. Describing this,” Theli gestured to his cheek again but didn’t touch it, “as an ‘injury’ is a slight . . . umm, essagee? That word that means something bigger than it is.”

Nestorion sighed again, as if summoning his patience. It was another expression which Thranduil was quite famililar with, yet unaccustomed to seeing directed at an elf other than himself. 

“An ‘exaggeration,’ Theli,” the Master Healer corrected with studied patience, “A slight exaggeration.” 

“Ex-agg-er-a-shun,” Theli repeated carefully, with a thoughtful look on his face, “That word has a funny sound at the end. Like complication?” 

“Yes, the same sound,” Nestorion agreed, placing a hand upon Theli’s shoulder and gently guiding him in the direction of the healing tents as he commanded, “Come along now, elfling. No more arguing with your healer.” 

“Yes, Master Nestorion,” said Theli, but more in the tone of an elf who was tired and didn’t want to argue with someone he respected rather than someone who was actually conceding the issue. Thranduil had some sympathy with that; he had been there. Usually he lasted longer in his protests, though. If Thranduil felt strongly about something, like joining the Army at the War of the Last Alliance even though he hadn’t been old enough under his father’s first ruling, then Thranduil fought hard for it. 

Thinking of that particular example reminded Thranduil that he’d been curious about something else. 

“Sorry, one question,” Thranduil called after the departing healers, “Theli, how old are you?” 

Theli looked to Nestorion uncertainly, then back at Thranduil. In a light, practiced tone of voice he replied, “1,500. Ish.” 

Nestorion sighed yet again, “He honestly believes that is his age, Thranduil, but I frankly have my doubts as to whether he counted right.” 

With a Mannish shrug, Theli justified his apparent inability to keep track of his own years upon Arda with the casual, dismissive remark, “Numbers are confusing.” 

“And yet you have no trouble calculating how many bandages we’ve been through in a month, and then extrapolating that into how many more we need to requisition for the next year,” Nestorion commented wryly, “And including within your calculation a safe margin of error, all without even being asked.” 

“Oh, but that’s numbers plus real things which matter. It’s a lot easier,” Theli explained with more enthusiasm. 

The Master Healer shook his head with fond exasperation, then looked back towards his prince and most frequent patient, “Have we satisfied your curiosity, Thranduil?” 

Thranduli blushed a little at the implication that he’d kept the hurting apprentice from medical attention, and Nestorion from his bed, for such a minor reason, “Yes, sorry, Nesta. Thank you.” 

“No harm done,” said Nestorion lightly, soothing any criticism there might have been. Turning back to Theli, the royal healer instructed, “Now, come along, my young Apprentice Enigma.” 

“En-ig-ma?” repeated Theli, with an interested expression. 

“I’ll define the word for you if you behave yourself for the rest of the night,” Nestorion promised. 

Theli nodded eagerly, then winced and rubbed his cheek again. 

With a sigh of exasperation, Nestorion firmly took each of the younger healer’s shoulders in his hands to direct him firmly toward the series of tents forming the Greenwood Army’s healing ward. 

Thranduil watched them go for a few moments before turning back to supervise his work detail. It was strange to see Nestorion taking care of another young elf. Thranduil thought that he liked Theli – there was an open and friendly air about about the younger elf which reminded Thranduil of something, something that he thought made him happy but which he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was simply that Theli still seemed hopeful, despite the War going on around them, and that reminded Thranduil of home. 

But despite being fairly sure that he liked Theli, Thranduil did not think that he particularly cared for seeing Nestorion acting as Theli’s healer. As little as Thranduil LIKED being Nestorion’s patient, he did like having the royal healer’s attention and approval. 

But since Thranduil’s punishment duties would finally be over soon, he probably wouldn’t see much more of the younger healer. So he wouldn’t need to think about it again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info

War of the Last Alliance, End of the Second Age 

The night after what Thranduil came to think of as the Privy Trench Battle, Theli showed up for ditch-digging duty again. A bruise covered the entire right side of his face. His right eye was almost entirely swollen shut. Thranduil knew from unhappy experience that when a face looked like that, it would hurt to talk, blink, and smile. 

Theli smiled anyway. 

“Oh, no,” said Thranduil firmly, “No. No. You look like you’re half-dead. Go back to the Healer’s tents and rest.” 

Theli sniffed dismissively, “I’m fine. Master Nestorion made me rest all morning.” 

“And what did you do all afternoon?” Thranduil asked cynically. 

“Rolled bandages and mixed up medicines and ointments,” Theli reported happily, “So now I have lots of energy.” 

“Wonderful,” said Thranduil sarcastically, “Use it to turn right back around and go roll more bandages and stir more pots. You have no place here tonight.” 

“But nobody told me not to come,” Theli countered reasonably, tilting his head in thought, “and Master Nestorion told me before this happened that I would have to come and work here every night so that he wouldn’t have to worry about my not being tired enough to fall asleep at night and wandering around again.” 

“While that seems very wise of Nestorion,” Thranduil replied, torn between amusement and exasperation and again a small hint of jealousy, “I know him well enough to know that he’d be appalled by your being here tonight when you should be resting. So go on, shoo.” 

“Shoe?” Theli asked, bemused, “Like not boots, but slippers?” 

If Thranduil hadn’t had gloves on his hands, he would have brought one palm up to slap his fore head in exasperation. 

Apparently dismissing the shoe question, Theli asked brightly, “Who’s in charge tonight?” 

“I am, for my sins,” Thranduil answered resignedly, even though he was a little bit proud that Captain Belecthor, who was in charge of supervising the running of the camp so that Oropher and General Rochendil could focus on running the war, had decided that it was a waste of personnel to have someone other than Thranduil supervise the punishment detail digging ditches when Thranduil had proven perfectly capable of doing it himself. 

“Good for you,” Theli praised, picking up a shovel, “You’re much less clueless than Sergeant Caidor.” 

“Thank you, Bratling,” replied Thranduil, not sure whether to laugh or yell. Before he had to decide, Healer Belegur arrived to collect Theli. 

“Tithen Nestor,” the kind sandy-haired healer called to Theli, “Master Nestorion wants you to observe a surgery.” 

“Really?” said Theli happily, showing much greater enthusiasm than Thranduil had ever imagined that one elf could show for getting to watch another elf be cut open and sewn back together. 

“Really,” Belegur confirmed with a patient smile. He gave Thranduil a conspiratorial wink once Theli’s back was turned. 

That one problem dealt with, Thranduil set to coaxing and coercing as much work as he could get out of Loendir and the other trouble makers he’d been saddled with. He actually missed Theli, but there was no way that the prince would have allowed the young healer, or any elf, for that matter, to work in such a condition unless it was absolutely necessary. 

By adapting Sergeant Medlithor’s strategy of alternating threatened retribution for idleness with breaks and praise, Thranduil miraculously managed to get his detail to finish their task almost as quickly as they’d done under Medlithor’s supervision. 

That actually gave Thranduil enough time to bathe, rest, and finish letters to both his mother and Minaethiel before meeting his father and his father’s commanders and their adjutants for dinner. 

“It’s nice to see you smiling again,” Fileg said under his breath to Thranduil as he sat down at the table to take notes for his captain. 

Thranduil gave his cousin a confused look. 

“I mean, with your eyes. A little. You’ve been grumpy of late, gwador-laes.” 

“I wonder why that could be,” Thranduil said, pretending to truly ponder that instead of giving in to his strong urge towards open sarcasm. 

“Just because we were upset with something you did doesn’t mean that we want you to be miserable forever,” Fileg counseled with irritating reasonableness. 

“Oh?” Thranduil retorted acerbically, “And here I had thought that you were still in Linwe’s ‘you deserve to suffer, Thranduil, you idiot’ camp, Fileg.” 

“Maybe,” said Fileg with a mixture of patience, affection, and exasperation, “Linwe would be less grumpy if you apologized to all of us for coming up and following through on a truly brilliant way to get yourself killed. Or even if you just promised never do to that – or anything like that – again.” 

“I haven’t already done that?” Thranduil asked, now truly baffled. 

“No, Thranduil,” Fileg reproached him gently, “You haven’t.” 

“Maybe I should, then.” 

“Mmm. Maybe. You know, if you want to.” 

“Right,” said Thranduil, pondering the best way to go about that. 

“But only if you truly mean it.” 

“I do.” 

Fileg gave him a measuring look, his azure eyes torn between doubt and hope. 

“I really do,” Thranduil reassured his cousin, “Trust me, Glorfindel has been laboriously, infinitesimally clear, in every small terrifying detail, with respect to what could have happened. I won’t do that again, Fileg. I swear that I won’t.” 

“Well, good.” 

“Right, good.” 

Then General Rochendil called them to attention. Thranduil’s father spoke first, and then turned the agenda back over to Rochendil. The meeting largely consisted of reports from Greenwood’s intelligence officers, supplemented with information from their allies the Men, the dwarves of Moria, and the elves of the other two elven kingdoms, Lorien and Lindon, as well as Lindon’s viceroyalty of Imladris and Lindon’s allies the Falathrim, the elves of Mithlond. 

To Thranduil, it all seemed like a tediously long-winded way of saything that they didn’t really know what the Enemy was planning. Which meant that they had to prepare for everything. And that, of course, was easier said than done. 

Thranduil listened intently and said very little. Compared to the elves around him who had fought in the decades-long War of Wrath, or guarded the borders of the Wood for twice as long as Thranduil had been alive or longer, or who had lived amongst the Enemy’s human allies for generations, Thranduil had little to contribute. At least, so far. So far, all of the suggestions he’d thought of which he felt must be considered had been voiced by someone else before Thranduil was left with the choice of speaking or letting the moment pass. 

But the young prince was learning a lot, and he thought that would change, in time. Not that he’d be disappointed if they won this awful war before that time came to pass. But Thranduil sadly did not think that was likely. 

And it didn’t come to pass. Near the end of the meeting, one of Elendil’s captains idly reported on the fact that the largest group of the Enemy’s human allies, the Southrons, were having trouble supplying their armies with leather. 

“Prince Imrazor’s fleet has successfully blockaded their ports to the south,” the Man reported, “But, they’re not starving, more’s the pity. Of course, there is the scarce game in this blasted land, which is more available for their harvesting than ours giving their Master’s inimicable will. Also, the Easterlings are trading them dried goat meat in exchange for spices, precious metals, and weapon smithing skills.” 

Seized by a sudden thought, Thranduil began to summon the nerve to ask a question, then decided against it. If his idea would have any merit, it would be best to keep it quiet. 

Thranduil waited until the meeting had concluded, and then until most of the officers had cleared out, before asking Rochendil, “Hasn’t the bulk of the Southron army been staying away from the rougher terrain in the most recent engagements? And far away from the marshes?” 

“Yes, they have, Thranduil,” Rochendil agreed, “None of us are entirely sure why. In at least the last two pitched battles, the Southron infantry would have done better to have approached the fighting through the marshes to the east. They’ve proved the most agile of the Enemy’s troops at negotiating that difficult terrain. Yet, they left it to the orcs, who bungled it badly.” 

“Which allowed the Imladrin siege engines to penetrate deeply into the Southrons’ and the goblins’ lines of attack before the Easterlings and orcs could put enough pressure on our forward ranks to make us withdraw,” Thranduil’s uncle Vehiron noted tiredly. 

“And all this happened after the Southrons started running short of leather,” Thranduil recapped. 

“Do you see some significance in that which we are missing, ion-nin?” Oropher asked fondly. 

“Well, they do need leather to repair their armor, but that wouldn’t make them avoid the marshes,” Thranduil theorized aloud, “But if this has been going on long enough, then their boots might be wearing out.” 

“Their . . . boots,” commented Rochendil thoughtfully, “Hmm. That’s not a bad analysis, our elfling. Not bad at all.” 

“Even the smoothest of the terrain here is awfully harsh on footwear,” Oropher agreed, “as well as on wagon wheels and horse shoes.” 

Vehiron sighed, “Yes, indeed. If I hear Luthavar complain about having to trade supplies he wanted to keep to the Men in order to get steel for replacement horseshoes on short notice one more time, I may do something unfortunate to our dear, clever-tongued cousin.” 

“And then I’d have to put you in charge of finding the steel for new horse shoes, muindor, so you’d best not,” Oropher chided mock-sternly. 

“What if we were to use the Imladrin siege engines to scatter the battle field ahead of us with nettles?” Thranduil wondered aloud, ”WE all have sturdy boots, but that would cause a lot of disruption in the Southron ranks if their infantry is close to going barefoot.” 

“The thought has merit, nephew, but we don’t have nettles.” Vehiron pointed out. 

“But there’s that marsh grass, the kind with the spikes on it, or those marsh weeds, the purple ones with the stinging sap,” Thranduil posited, “One of those might work, if the spikes and the sap could last through being dried and hurled through the air. Why not try it, at least?” 

“Why not, indeed?” concurred Oropher, the pride in his voice warming Thranduil even as he worried about the exhaustion evident in his father’s noble features. 

“We can talk more about it in the morning, ion-nin,” Oropher added, his emerald green eyes warm as he regarded his only child. “For now, we all need our rest.” 

The others said their fare wells, leaving Thranduil alone with his father. 

Oropher smiled at him, as he so often did, even when he was angry at Thranduil he wanted his son to know that he was loved. But having had the opportunity to rest himself tonight, it seemed heartbreakingly clear to Thranduil how tired his father was. How weary this war was making him. And Thranduil hadn’t exactly helped, of late. 

With some of that in mind, the young prince got to his feet and fetched his father a wine skin from the sideboard, and a basin of water and soft towel to wash his face. 

“What’s this, ion-nin?” Oropher asked, bemused, as he accepted both skin and towel, “It should be me taking care of you.” 

“You do,” Thranduil insisted, “Even when I make it difficult.” 

Oropher shook his head fondly as he washed his face and hands. The dust of Mordor got into everything, which the fastidious Oropher did not care for at all.

Thranduil, having taken his bath earlier before Oropher returned from King Elendil’s camp, set himself to the task of reorganizing the scattered troop markers on the strategy table. 

“Here, laes-nin,” Oropher called. Puzzled but obedient, Thranduil returned to his father’s side. 

“Hold still,” Oropher admonished gently. He lifted the still-damp towel and scrubbed persistently at a spot just under Thranduil’s right cheekbone. 

“There,” Oropher said with a fond, amused smile, “Now you’re clean.” 

“I can’t believe that I missed a spot,” Thranduil muttered vexedly, “Fileg didn’t notice it.” Or hadn’t told Thranduil. Fileg had a sometimes questionable sense of humor. But they’d been at a gathering of higher-up officers, and Thranduil’s cousin had too much a sense of decorum to have done anything to let Thranduil embarrass himself in front of such an audience. 

“Mmm,” murmured Oropher, regarding his son tenderly, “Perhaps you should not have given away your mirror as a prize to the elf under your command who kept his kit the neatest. 

“You knew about that?” 

“When it comes to you, hil-nin, I try to pay very close attention.” 

Thranduil tried to decipher whether that was a compliment, or a disparaging comment on his recent unauthorized expeditions. While he pondered that, his father gently guided him in the direction of their curtained off bed chamber. 

After they had both changed into lighter leggings and tunic and laid down in their cots, side-by-side, armor and weapons by the door, Thranduil’s father spoke again. 

“Ion-nin, if I were truly a responsible parent, I would never have let you come here and put yourself in such danger,” Oropher accused himself with a sigh. 

Thranduil sat up on his cot and turned to his face his father as he protested, “I’m a warrior, Ada. And I’m a good warrior, for my age. And . . .” 

“You are an exceptional warrior for your age, Thranduil,” Oropher interrupted forcefully, sitting up as well, “Otherwise your captain would never have asked for you to be here. And I would never have said yes.” 

Oropher opened his arms, and Thranduil leaned forward to lay his head against his father’s strong chest. For a few moments they just sat there, in peace in a way that they had not often been since Thranduil’s latest misadventure. 

“This is where I should be, Ada,” Thranduil said at last, with his head safely cradled against his father’s shoulder, “With the world the way it is, this is where I should be. Glorfindel keeps saying that it isn’t hopeless, and that it is even less hopeless with me here. Um, here as in, here in the planning sessions and leading my warriors under my captain’s command, I mean.” 

“My dutiful son,” said Oropher, gently stroking Thranduil’s sunlight-golden hair, “I am so very proud of you.” 

“Really?” Thranduil asked, knowing that his father was telling him the truth because Oropher always told him the truth, but finding himself thirsty for the reassurance nonetheless. 

“Of course. I was angry with what you had done, Thranduil,” Oropher explained, still carding his elegant fingers through Thranduil’s freshly washed hair, “You had made me feel more afraid than I’ve ever felt in my life. But that doesn’t negate my pride in you. Every task that you have set your hand to, you have worked hard and excelled in, including Glorfindel’s lessons, which I know can be . . . rather trying. Even,” an amused smile flickered over Thranduil’s father’s handsome features, “even privy digging detail. It has not escaped my notice that you were instrumental in preventing a mass poisoning of the humans’ camps. Or that you have been placed in command of what was to have been your punishment duties.” 

“Oh, it’s still a punishment,” Thranduil reassured his father, but he was smiling as he did so. 

“And so it should be, Thranduil. But I am proud of you, nonetheless. You are my pride, as well as my joy, ion-nin. You always have been.” 

Thranduil slept through that entire night with no bad dreams whatsoever, a rarity since the war had begun. The next day after drills he managed to catch all three of his gwedyr and apologize to them. 

Of course, even being forgiven didn’t mean that they wanted to keep Thranduil company while he was covering up odiferous latrine trenches and digging new ones. There was no Theli, either, the next night. Thranduil was partially glad because he hoped that the younger elf was actually resting, but he found himself missing the healer’s cheerful chatter and uncomplaining company. 

When Theli came back the third night, his face was only mostly healed. That garnered a frown from Thranduil. The prince himself healed quickly, even for an elf, and tended to assume that others would, as well. 

Despite the bruise, the younger elf’s smile was as bright as always. His story about the contest going on between Imrazor’s men and Lindon’s sailors-turned-infantry to see who could make the most delicious meal out of rat was mildly disgusting, but it did make the time pass. And it was true that there wasn’t much in the way of wild game in Mordor. Shipping in all of their food was a tremendous expense and hassle. 

Thranduil did recall that Theli’s stint with the ditch digging detail should have ended already. 

When he asked his young friend about that, Theli blushed and, “Master Nestorion wouldn’t let me work again yesterday except for tasks that I could do sitting down, so I went and took my lunch and dinner breaks helping Lothlorien’s healers. Master Bregalen just said not to go so far away next time without leaving word again, but Master Nestorion said I should have known better and said that I had to dig ditches for two more weeks because of it.” 

Thranduil knew that he never liked it when someone else figured out that he’d been in trouble. 

“Well, now you know better for next time then,” Thranduil said, trying to move past the moment as quickly as possible to spare his small friend’s dignity. 

“Not really,” Theli complained, his blush fading into a stubborn expression, “I was perfectly capable of moving around and seeing to patients, it just gave me a headache. But I won’t do it again, because Master Nestorion made me PROMISE him that I wouldn’t.” Theli frowned, as if that had been a very underhanded thing of Nestorion to do. 

“Ah,” Thranduil commented neutrally. He found himself in the strange position of wondering whether he should point out to a younger elf that an authority figure who wasn’t a military officer had been right. He lifted his own flask of water to his lips and took a sip, trying to figure out if he should say something more. 

Theli brightened again, “But how likely is it that somebody is going to hit me on the face like that again, anyway? I only promised that I’d listen and rest when Master Nestorion said if ‘this’ happened again, and ‘this’ was getting hit in the face.” 

Thranduil started to laugh at the same time that he was drinking, and then choked a bit and coughed. Theli helpfully patted him on the back. 

Once he got his breath back, Thranduil was torn between laughing again and groaning at how much that particular logic resembled certain past examples of his own thinking.

“Theli?” Thranduil said at last. 

“Yes?” 

“If you don’t want Master Nestorion to deal with you giving you punishment duties again,” Thranduil suggested, “then I would assume that by ‘this’ he meant ‘anything like this’ or ‘any other time that you are injured and he tells you to rest’ and not just a bruise on the right side of your face.” 

“But he didn’t SAY that,” Theli argued, picking up his shovel again, “I mean, I’d listen to him and rest if it was something really similar, like a bruise on the left side of my face. Or something really serious, like a concussion or a leaking wound. Those aren’t to be fooled around with.” 

“It’s important to have standards, I suppose,” Thranduil said, not particularly liking the thought of Theli being concussed or bleeding, “And you’re free to do as you like. It’s your free time. All I can do is warn you.” 

“I appreciate the warning,” said Theli earnestly as he worked, “Master Nestorion seems really, really fond of you, by the way. He also warned me not to get you into trouble.” 

Pleased but baffled by that show of concern from his healer, Thranduil wondered aloud, “How does Nestorion think that YOU could possibly get ME in to trouble?” 

“I’m not sure, but I agreed. I don’t want to get you into trouble, Thranduil. Or anyone really. Not even Sergeant Ass.” 

“I appreciate that, Theli. Very kind of you. And nothing that happens to Sergeant Caidor at his hearing is your fault, either,” Thranduil finished sternly. 

Theli frowned and looked down into the hole he was digging, “But maybe if I hadn’t called him a worm-ridden misbegotten offspring of. . .” 

“It wasn’t your fault, elfling,” Thranduil interrupted him to firmly reinforce, “Caidor is a senior military officer. If he can’t handle being called a few names without throwing a punch, then he deserves whatever he gets. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, Thranduil,” said Theli, still looking down. 

Thranduil sighed, and asked a question about what new colorful phrases Theli had learned from Imrazor’s pirates. That was generally a safe topic of conversation, and at times a fruitful one. Thranduil’s friend the youngest human prince Ciryon in particular was easy to impress with foul language, and it was always fun to watch Prince Imrazor try not to laugh at the funny expressions on Ciryon’s face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” ~ James Boswell
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs

War of the Last Alliance, End of the Second Age 

 

The next morning while Thranduil, his father, and their party were returning from a strategy meeting in King Elendil’s camp, they got caught up in a skirmish along the Greenwood and Arnorian lines. For a skirmish, the orcs had been quite persistent. Their apparent quarry had been King Elendil’s vassal and foster-son Prince Imrazor. 

Thranduil had pulled a muscle in his shoulder using his sword to block an axe blow meant for young Prince Ciryon, who had been accompanying their party. Thranduil’s shoulder hadn’t been paining him greatly and the young prince had wanted to be part of the post-fracas briefing, so he had neglected to mention the matter to his father, or to anyone else, for the rest of the afternoon. 

By the evening, Thranduil’s shoulder was actually feeling somewhat better on its own. Even afternoon arms practice hadn’t jarred it too badly, although Thranduil had taken care not to take any full-strength blows along his blade the way he had when first incurring the injury that morning. The prince knew that he should have gone to see a healer, just to make sure that he was fighting fit. But he also knew that one of his two junior officers was still on the injured list, and that the other was too green to handle command if Thranduil was injured. So he kept the injury to himself. 

Thranduil had a high tolerance for pain and a great deal of practice hiding injuries. He wasn’t surprised that even his gwedyr and his father hadn’t noticed. During ditch-digging detail that night, Thranduil tried to do as much supervising and as little actual digging as possible. Not because Thranduil was afraid of anyone noticing the injury, but just so as not to aggravate it further. 

“What happened to your shoulder?” Theli asked, about fifteen minutes into their duty shift. 

“Nothing,” Thranduil said shortly, making it clear from his tone that he didn’t want to talk about it. Theli was usually pretty good at picking up on hints like that. 

“Something,” the little healer contradicted stubbornly, “You’re holding it funny. Actually, if you switch hands and dig right-hand dominant, you’ll hurt your left shoulder even less. What muscle did you pull?” 

“How should I know?” Thranduil asked cattily, even as he moved the shovel to his right hand. 

“Well, it’s your shoulder.” 

“Mind your own affairs, if you would be so good, Theli.” 

Theli sighed. “Fine. But I really think you should go get it looked at.” Theli brightened, “I can look at it, if you want. You still might need to see another healer after. I mean, if I don’t recognize which muscle it is or can’t tell how badly it’s hurt or how best to fix it, but I might be able to help.” 

“You could help by shutting up and digging.” 

Theli sighed as if that was a great imposition, but he still did it. Thranduil spent most of the night supervising and not digging, in part because Theli gave him calf eyes every time Thranduil picked up a shovel. Well, a mixture between calf eyes and an expression that said ‘I love being a healer and looking at wounds, why won’t you let me look at yours?’ which Thranduil found rather alarming. Not terrifyingly so – if someone had a new counter or block for a certain sword drill, Thranduil would want to see it, after all. It wasn’t that different, but it still made Thranduil feel uncomfortable. 

Master Nestorion and cousin Elrond, if they had ever gotten such a look in their eyes, had long since learned to hide it. Maybe Thranduil should suggest that Theli emulate them in that regard? Well, perhaps another night, when Thranduil’s shoulder wasn’t hurting. 

Thranduil managed to get through the rest of that night and the following morning without further hurting his shoulder. During the afternoon’s sparring, however, he’d taken a hard knock to his shield arm which had sent him to the ground. He’d landed painfully hard on his left shoulder. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been favoring his left shoulder, which only made Thranduil more frustrated with himself.

The prince was hoping that if he rested for a few hours, that would improve matters. He really did not want to go to the healers. Master Nestorion would scold, and tell Thranduil’s father, and Oropher would be disappointed in Thranduil again. And on top of that, there was the issue of someone taking Thranduil’s place in his company for a few days, which was still a problem. If his shoulder was still bothering him by the end of the week, the more senior of Thranduil’s two junior officers would be back to full health, and then it wouldn’t be a problem for Thranduil to take a few days off to finish healing. 

So the heat of the afternoon found Thranduil resting on his oath-brother Veasen’s cot in the tent that his dark-haired gwador shared with his father. Linwe sat on a camp stool beside the cot, working on the draft of a death letter for his captain to sign. Thranduil remained somewhat alert, in case Linwe needed someone to talk to, or some help with his letter, or even just moral support. But Thranduil was mostly just relaxing, and willing his shoulder to get better on its own. 

Veassen and Fileg were playing a dice game outside the half-way open tent door with two other young officers. Their happy voices and the clink of the dice on the wooden camp table made for a pleasant background noise, further contributing to Thranduil’s half-asleep state. It would have been even more enjoyable if his shoulder weren’t hurting, but one couldn’t have everything. 

The sound of semi-familiar foot steps made Thranduil open his drowsy sapphire eyes. He wasn’t exactly sure – he hadn’t spent enough time around Theli to be sure – but the apprentice healer had a rather distinctive foot tread. Fast and slightly heavy for his small size, even at a walk, because he was always in a hurry to do or say something else. 

“Hello?” the voice that matched those always hurried footsteps queried, “You’re Thranduil’s friend? I mean, the lieutenant who is named Thranduil who supervises our shift? You called him Lieutenant Oropherion one night when you were there, but he is also called by someone else’s name?" 

"It is Oropherion,” Veassen answered Theli cautiously, “but we use the other name to keep him safe. So keep the first to yourself and use the other, if you would. But yes, I’m Thranduil’s gwador. Why are you asking?" 

“Gwa-dor?” Theli pronounced carefully, in his ‘I don’t know that word and am about to take a wild guess as to its meaning’ tone of voice. “Does that mean you're his lover? Oughtn't you not be in the same unit then, or something?" 

Thranduil lifted himself up to a sitting position with his good arm and slapped that palm against his forehead as he heard Fileg burst into laughter. 

"What? No! Gwador means "sworn brother!" Veassen protested, in a tone which straddled the line between shocked and appalled. 

“Now, now, Vea, don’t be like that,” Fileg countered brightly, and despite how irritating it was to have his cousin chortle at his expense, Thranduil was happy to hear Fileg be amused by something. Although that happiness turned nearer to irritation as Fileg continued, “I’m sure that Thranduil would make an excellent lover. However,” Fileg said more seriously, reducing Thranduil’s desire to go out and kick him, “Thranduil is my cousin and our friend, not our lover.” 

“Oh,” said Theli, and Thranduil could just picture his shrug. “That’s good to know,” the younger elf continued, “Not that I would have minded, either way. Anyway, your friend was sort of favoring his left shoulder while we were, um, working. Digging, last night. Not badly, but enough for it maybe to be strained, or maybe he has a pulled muscle, or something. I'm an apprentice healer. I offered to look at it for him, but he said it was nothing, and I don’t think he’s gone to a healer today?” 

“No, I don’t think that he has,” said Fileg, in an ominous tone of voice that had nothing on the heated glare Linwe was currently aiming at Thranduil from across the tent. 

“Right, it didn’t seem like Thranduil thought it was serious,” Theli replied, his voice very grave for him, “But I asked Master Healer Bregalen questions about what muscles were affected if someone was favoring a shoulder like Thranduil was doing, I mean showing Master Bregalen the same movements with the same weight as a shovel digging. And I asked him whether an injury to those muscles would heal on its own. Master Bregalen said that it would probably be fine to heal on its own if there were no healers available, but that it would heal faster if it was treated or at least rested, so I was coming to tell Lieutenant Thranduil – I’ll just keep calling him that, Oropherion and the other are both hard to say – that he really should just go get his shoulder looked at before he digs any more ditches tonight. But I couldn’t find him, so I’m telling you. Will you tell him for me?” 

“Oh,” said Veassen, seemingly still off-kilter from having had Theli assume that he and Thranduil were in the middle of some torrid romance, “Um, thank you, Apprentice Healer . . .?”

“Erynion,” Theli supplied hesitantly. There was a hint of sadness the healer’s voice as he claimed that fatherless name. It made Thranduil’s heart ache for a moment. Theli, Thranduil thought to himself, was still not that long away from leaving his home behind him forever. The young apprentice’s occasional trouble with Sindarin words certainly suggested that, and so did his sorrow when he gave the name of a fatherless elf. 

“Ah, Apprentice Healer Erynion,” Veassen answered, “I'll tell him, yes. And we’ll make sure that he sees a healer.” 

“If you're a healer,” Fileg asked Theli, still amused, “isn't it in your oath, or something, to do something more effective than rat Thranduil out to his friends?” 

Thranduil couldn’t hear Theli’s shrug, but he could certainly picture it, “It’s not like he is about to fall over dead or cause irreparable harm to the muscle,” the young healer defended himself, “And I believe that people – elves, Men, and dwarves at least, the orcs just try to kill us - are more likely to benefit from a healer’s efforts if it’s their idea to get help in the first place. Maybe Thranduil just didn’t know that it wouldn’t heal as fast without help. Some muscle injuries more or less do fine with normal activitiy as long as you don’t push it too much. So I found out for him from Master Bregalen, so that he’d know. And if you convince Thranduil to go see a healer himself and the healer THINKS it was Thranduil’s idea, then they’ll be less snippy. It’s harder to treat an injury longer after the fact, but healers have more faith that patients who volunteer for treatment will take care of themselves, even after the fact. It makes some of them act less like . . . .” Theli ran out of Sindarin words and used a Nandorin saying. 

Thranduil, despite having just been snitched on by Theli and currently being scowled at direly by Linwe, was still having to bite the side of his cheek to keep from laughing at the idea of Master Nestorion’s behavior when a patient hid an injury being compared to that of a stork whose nest was being carried off by beavers. 

“I see, I think,” said Fileg, “except for maybe that last part. We’ll see to it that Thranduil gets treated, in any case.” 

“Good, thank you,” Theli replied with genuine relief, “Lieutenant Thranduil is a clever elf and a good officer, he even stopped Sergeant Caidor from killing me and burying my corpse in a privy trench when I tried to stop him – Caidor, I mean - from giving the human camp dysentery. I don’t want to get Thranduil in trouble.” 

“It won’t be your fault if he is,” Fileg assured Theli, “Cousin Oropher hates it when Thranduil hides injuries. We all do, but it’s rather a habit of his.” 

“Well,” Theli began, and Thranduil couldn’t actually see the young healer tilt his head in thought at Fileg, but the prince knew what that tone meant. 

“Maybe if healers had more patience with him and explained how to best recover quickly and thoroughly,” Theli told Fileg, “he wouldn’t avoid them so much. It’s not always the patient’s fault.” 

“That’s rather a novel philosophy, for a healer,” Fileg admired. 

“A novel ‘fils-a-fee’?” Theli asked curiously, “Is that a type of book?” 

“Philosophy,” Fileg corrected, “It’s, um, something that you think. The way you think about something. Most healers think that patients who hide their injuries are idiots.” 

One cannot hear a shrug, but Thranduil could see it in his mind’s eye, “If someone has access to a healer for injuries and STILL avoids a healer,” Theli said, “then it’s time to try something else to encourage them to prioritize their getting better fastest. And there only a few,” Theli paused, “phil-os-o-fees – that I hate more than ‘it failed last time, so let’s try the same thing again.’” 

“Encourage?” Fileg asked, still seeming vastly entertained, curse him, “Do you mean bribe?” 

“If it works,” Theli answered, probably after shrugging again, “and if finding a good bribe isn’t an issue, then why not? We started giving soldiers who come back for check-ups on time apples and grapes when we have them. It’s seemed to help a little, and it’s a lot less expensive and time-costing for the healers, and easier on the soldiers, to give them a treat for showing up on time to get stitches out or a wound looked at, then to have them wait and the stitches get in-grown or the wound soured.” 

“Yes, well,” Fileg replied bemusedly, “finding a good bribe for our gwador Thranduil might be a challenge. Although I do like that you’re essentially giving warriors sweets for being good patients. Not so certain what it says about our maturity as a group, though.” 

“Does it matter what it says, if it works?” Theli asked ingenuously. Then he gasped and told them even more quickly than his usual wont, “I have to go, I’m running late for meeting the Imladris healers to go visit the Mannish healers. You’ll help Thranduil, though?” 

“We’ll help Thranduil,” Fileg assured him, “And if he won’t listen to us, he’ll listen to cousin Oropher.” 

“Thranduil Oropherion,” Theli said thoughtfully, his mercurial inquisitivity overwhelming for the moment his desire to be timely, “Hunh. Thranduil’s parents must really love the royal family. 

There was a moment of silence during which Thranduil imagined that Veassen and Fileg were exchanging baffled looks. 

“In a manner of speaking,” Veassen replied in a wondering tone of voice, “They are the royal family.” 

“Oh!” Theli exclaimed in mild surprise, “He's that Thranduil. Well, that explains how Master Nestorion knows him.” 

“You really didn't know that,” Veassen observed incredulously. 

“There are a lot of Thranduil’s, you know,” said Theli matter-of-factly, “But since Thranduil is Master Healer Nestorion’s patient, he should definitely go see Master Nestorion before Master Nestorion figures out that he’s hurt on his own. Master Nestorion is really observant, and has almost no patience about that type of thing. He’s very good though,” Theli added in a tone of great admiration, “Certainly one of the best healers I’ve ever met. I think he’s actually got a lighter touch with stitches than Master Healer Elrond.” 

“Master Healer Elrond? You mean Lord Elrond?” Fileg inquired, “Aran Ereinion Gil-galad of Lindon’s Viceroy of Imladris?” 

“Yes, him,” Theli confirmed, “He’s also a lord of the Moldy elves and such, but being a master healer is a much more impressive thing, I think. He shouldn’t get called a less important . . . um, work-name? Just because he also is a lord and a . . .a vise-roy.” 

“Work-name?” asked Veassen, puzzled.

“Moldy elves?” inquired Fileg, sounding all-too-amused again. Practically delighted, in fact. Thranduil shook his head, not for the first time, at his cousin’s whimsical sense of humor. 

Theli, apparently answering Veassen’s question first, said, “Not work-name, but like that? A name you get for the level of skill and experience you earn at your work, not your real name? The word starts with a “t” sound. Tittle? Like another term for gossip, but not quite.” 

“I think you mean title,” Veassen provided helpfully, “Thranduil’s rank is lieutenant, so it’s fine to call him that when he’s being a lieutenant. But his proper title is Prince, and if you ever see him when he’s not wearing his lieutenant’s uniform, you should call him your highness.” 

“Highness? Like flying?” Theli asked, mystified. 

“Close enough,” said Fileg cheerfully, “Now, who do you mean by the Moldy elves?” 

Theli sighed, “I can never remember how to say what they’re called. Noldy elves? The elves from Lindon, only some of them are also from Imladris, but the Imladris elves are really from everywhere and almost all of them are very friendly while only some of the Lindon elves are friendly? Ereinion himself seems very nice though. Thoughtful, and responsible. And he has kind eyes when he’s not being kingly.” 

“Does he, now?” asked Fileg, delighted again. 

“Oh! I really do need to go now, I’m going to be late!” Theli exclaimed, “Fare well, and thank you!” Thranduil heard Theli’s foot steps running off, much faster even than usual. 

“Come along, gwador-laes,” said Linwe sternly to Thranduil, gesturing towards the opening of the tent, “Master Nestorion will be pleased as always to see you again.” 

“Maybe he’ll even give you an apple,” Fileg jested as he got up to join them, “And oh, ‘Moldy elves.’ Thranduil, do you think I can pay that healer money to call Lord-the-Captain Loxano a ‘Moldy elf’ to his glowering, stink-eyed face at the next large meeting?” 

Veassen fell in beside Thranduil as all four of them headed in the direction of the healer’s tents. As little as Thranduil liked all the fuss, it was nice to not be alone. And the thought of artless little Theli calling the stuffy, hidebound Lord Loxano a ‘Noldy elf’ was a little funny to Thranduil, too. 

“You could try,” Thranduil told his cousin, “But Master Nestorion seems fond of that apprentice. I’d consider that before setting up poor Theli to be burnt to death by Lord Loxano’s death glower.” 

“An elf can dream,” Fileg replied good-naturedly, “If your father – and then Glorfindel and Elrond– hadn’t made very explicit and terrifying threats concerning their intolerance for pranks, I would definitely have replaced Lofty Loxano’s tea with marsh water at some meeting or other by now.” 

Thranduil huffed a laugh at that, then advised Fileg, “Don’t tell that to Theli unless you want a very explicit and disgusting lecture about what happens when marsh-dwelling larvae colonize an elf’s – or a man’s – stomach and intestines. Apparently, it can and has happened during the course of this war, and Theli has strong opinions about elves who play such pranks given the known unhealthiness of marsh water.” 

“How is your shoulder, gwador?” Veassen asked, with a slight hint of judgment to his affectionate and concerned tone. 

“Not bad, really,” Thranduil protested. 

“Right. And when did you hurt it?” Linwe asked, and in his voice the judgement was less of a tone and more of a fact. 

Thranduil sighed, “In yesterday morning’s skirmish. I wanted to go to the strategy meeting afterward, but Ada said that I had to go see the healers if I’d been hurt,” Thranduil paused, “I maybe should have gone afterward, though.” 

“Thranduil, you certainly should have,” Veassen scolded mildly. 

“It isn’t that bad,” Thranduil protested, “and I didn’t want to get put on restricted duties while Junior Officer Gwonir is still on the injured list. Captain Curulas doesn’t have a spare lieutenant, and Junior Officer Manadhon isn’t ready to hold a temporary command yet.” 

“Oh yes,” Linwe observed bitingly, “because getting yourself killed when you couldn’t hold your shield against an orc-mace is such a better result.” 

“If I give it up and just say that I was wrong, will you let this go?” Thranduil asked with faint hope. 

“Yes, if you let me bring your apprentice healer to Ereinion’s camp and introduce him to Lord Loxano,” Fileg teased. 

“No,” said Linwe, with a frown for Fileg. 

“Wonderful,” said Thranduil on a sigh, preparing himself for Nestorion’s disappointment, “Thank you ever so much, Lin.” 

Nestorion was disappointed, but not surprised. Thranduil’s father expressed his displeasure at his son’s having concealed yet another injury with a scorching lecture meted out just before Thranduil had to sit through yet another briefing. Linwe added a few choice words of his own once the shoulder had healed, which had been completely unnecessary in Thranduil’s opinion. Past experience suggested that his father and his gwedyr would not share that opinion, so Thranduil didn’t bother voicing it beyond a token objection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope that you are enjoying the story! I would love to hear from you if you are!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” ~ James Boswell
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs

The prince had been slightly afraid that Theli’s having learned he was “that Thranduil” would cause the healer to stop behaving so amicably and unaffectedly in Thranduil’s presence. He needn’t have feared on that account. Learning that Thranduil was Prince Thranduil had made absolutely no difference in Theli’s demeanor when they were together, except that now Theli expected Thranduil to already know the “Noldy” elves Ereinion and Elrond, so he called them by name in his stories. Not all of his stories, though. For such an unsophisticated elf, Theli was careful to edit names out of any embarrassing anecdotes he happened to share. 

Thranduil, being a public figure who enjoyed his privacy, appreciated that. He also appreciated that if he were having a bad day and said something snappish or biting to the young healer, Theli would just shrug and leave Thranduil alone for awhile. Other times, when Thranduil didn’t feel like silence but still didn’t have it in him to be polite, Theli would keep up his rapid, melodic stream of cheery prattle. Thranduil found it soothing, rather like the sound of a sylvan brook. 

In such a way did Thranduil come to know a startling variety of things about the war which he never might have learned otherwise. As a healer, Theli would sometimes overshare, but except in the case of Sergeant Medlithor, whom they both knew, Theli never shared the names of his patients. It was all “one of Imrazor’s men,” “an Arnorian scout,” “an Imladrin engineer” or “an elf who took a poisoned dagger to the gut is recovering well - the marshflower oil we bartered from the sea elves worked really well to draw out the curare poison, even though we’d run out of snakeroot powder.” 

Thranduil also learned why the swordsmiths of Imladris were feuding with the blacksmiths from Lindon, that the fletchers of the Greenwood had an ongoing bet with the fletchers of Lorien as to which group could repair a greater proportion of their kingdom’s damaged arrows after every engagement, and that there were dwarven traders secretly raiding the foul-smelling privy trenches.

“Sweet Belain, why?” Thranduil had interrupted at that point, even though he’d thought himself too tired and mournful from the previous day’s battle to engage in decent conversation. 

“Because there are those Mannish farmers trying to grow crops just outside of Mordor’s borders. They wanted manure to help with their planting, and they were willing to pay for it. I don’t think that what’s-his-name, the dwarf in charge, knew about it though,” Theli concluded thoughtfully, “the Belfalas sentries who let them into camp said that they were wearing dark clothing and moving furtively.” 

“The ‘dwarf-in-charge’ is named Fror. Prince Fror, second son of King Durin V of Moria,” Thranduil absently supplied, thinking that he’d better cursed well have a word with Prince Imrazor’s sentries. Dwarves stealing excrement was one thing, but security had to be maintained! 

One word from Thranduil to Glorfindel was all it took to get the irrepressible Imrazor to rectify that particular free-market enterprise on the part of his merchant-sailors-turned-army. Under normal circumstances, Thranduil would have gone to Prince Elendur and asked him to speak to his foster-brother instead of siccing the Balrog Slayer on Imrazor, but Thranduil really didn’t have that much free time. 

And what he did have, he spent much of it trying to help his father and Oropher’s staff with the running of the camp and the campaign. Late one night, a bleary-eyed Thranduil was unenthusiastically eating mystery stew while his father and his uncles discussed requisitions with their cousin Luthavar, the camp’s de-facto Quarter Master and Finder of Necessities. 

“Master Healer Telfindir reports that we are in desperate need of more horsetail, yarrow, aloe, arnica, angelica, barberry, marigold, cinchona, purple coneflower, bay laurel, lavender, chamomile, peppermint, and most especially poppy and willowbark,” Vehiron explained, clearly expecting Luthavar to figure out how to acquire all of it. 

Luthavar sighed, “Could you perhaps ask Masater Telfindir what we’re not desperately in need of? It might be a shorter list.” 

“I wasn’t finished, elfling,” Vehiron told Luthavar. 

“Oh, good. I do like a complete list,” Thranduil’s clever-tongued cousin said mockingly. 

Vehiron ignored him and continued, “We are also in need of elderberry, feverfew, bilberry, and snake root. Whatever that is.” 

“It’s used to draw out curare poison,” Thranduil supplied, “like the toad and snake poisons that the Southrons and the orcs use to coat their arrow heads.”

There was a pause while the three older ellyn turned to regard Thranduil with surprise. 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” said Oropher thoughtfully. 

“If we can’t get more snakeroot,” Thranduil offered, “Then maybe we could trade something to the Falathrim in exchange for marshflower oil. It also seems to work to draw out the curare poison. The healers say so, I mean.” 

“That’s an idea, cousin,” the exhausted and irritated Luthavar commended with some enthusiasm, “Lord Cirdan’s elves already owe us for supplying them with arrow shafts when they ran out before their shipments of wood from Arnor arrived.” 

“But we’re not going to take advantage of them, Lutha,” Oropher gently but firmly insisted, “Nothing they would later have cause to regret. Or go to Ereinion Gil-galad to complain of.” 

“Oropher, I know that,” Luthavar said, his tone halfway between conciliatory and hurt, “Have I ever ended negotiations in such a way that left the Greenwood in a bad place with an ally?” 

“No, cousin, you haven’t,” Oropher agreed fondly, “But you have left any number of trading partners wondering how it was that they agreed to any such thing the next day.” 

“I know that I sometimes feel that way,” Vehiron said, “Particularly when you and Thranduil join forces.” 

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Luthavar commented, declining to take issue with what could have been perceived as an insult, “Thranduil, would you like to come with me to meet with Lord Cirdan’s Steward? He’s remarked on several occasions that he remembers you fondly from when you were an elfling.” 

“Oh, no. Did I play with his beard, too?” Thranduil inquired, blushing at the very thought of how enchanted he’d been as an elfling with Cirdan’s well-kept beard. Only the very eldest of elven elders could even grow facial hair, and most of them chose not to. But if any elven leader would have a bearded elf on his staff, it would be Cirdan. 

“No, ion-nin, you didn’t,” Oropher reassured Thranduil warmly, “You did, however, greatly admire his pet parrot. You drew a picture of him and his noble bird together, which I later learned from Uncle Cirdan that he had framed.” 

Thranduil sighed with relief, “Right. Well, that’s still a little embarrassing. But nowhere near as bad.” 

“There is nothing wrong with having been a charming elfling, Thranduil,” Luthavar disputed, “And particularly not if Lord-the-Captain Uilben is more likely to give us a fair hearing because of it.” 

“Just keep it to fair, Lutha,” Oropher warned again, “Fair, not over-generous.” 

“I won’t take advantage of the Falathrim, cousin,” Luthavar protested, “But we could use a little bit of a deal if they willingly offer one. We’ll be stretched thin enough as it is covering everything that we absolutely need for re-supply. Not to mention that I was hoping we’d be able to afford a packet of sweets, new blankets, and other Yule gifts for each of your warriors.” 

“Are we, Ada?” Thranduil inquired, concerned, “Stretched thin, that is?” 

“War is expensive, ion-nin,” the King explained tiredly, “Your Naneth and our council have done a tremendous job of keeping up the profitability of economic enterprises in the Wood despite the Army’s absence. And they have managed to convince the regional lords and village elders of the necessity of the last tax raises, as well. But yes, we find ourselves having to be very . . . careful. In a way which we have not had to since we first became Greenwood’s rulers.” 

“Perhaps we should do as Prince Fror’s dwarves are doing behind his back, then,” Thranduil pondered aloud, not really being serious about it, “and sell the contents of our privy trenches to the Men who are trying to grow crops just outside the Enemy’s borders.” 

“They’re doing what?” Luthavar immediately asked, appearing professionally impressed as well as no small amount disgusted. 

“They are – or they were, until Captain Glorfindel twisted Prince Imrazor’s ears about shoddy security – buying waste from the Belfalas levies on the sly,” Thranduil shared. 

“Oropher?” Luthavar inquired in an intrigued, bemused manner, “If they’re willing to buy . . .” 

“Not now, Luthavar,” Oropher said firmly, turning his attention to Thranduil. 

“Ion-nin, how did you come to know of this?” Oropher questioned intently, “I have had no reports from you or your guards that you have been visiting the dwarven camp or the Belfalas levies. Have you been wandering around on your own again?” 

“No!” Thranduil denied, frustrated and insulted and heading towards furious, “I promised you that that I wouldn’t, and I haven’t! What do you think I am now, Ada? An oathbreaker? Is that really what you think of me?” 

“No, I don’t think that, Thranduil,” his father replied, holding on to his own calm, “But I would like to know where you heard of this . . . innovative economic enterprise.” 

“From one of the other elves on ditch-digging duty, Aran-nin,” Thranduil reported heatedly, “As I’m sure that you can imagine – or perhaps you cannot, having taken care never to have erred as greatly as I have - many of my . . . fellow laborers. . . have colorful stories to share.” 

“Thranduil,” Oropher began, torn between the sternness of a King in respect of an erring prince and the love of a father for a hurting son. 

Thranduil didn’t have the heart to stay and learn which role Oropher was going to land on. 

“May I be excused, Aran-nin?” Thranduil asked tightly. 

Oropher sighed, “Yes, you may. You may not leave the tent.” 

“I had no intention of doing so,” Thranduil snapped back. As he got up to leave, he slapped his palms on the table, sending papers flying. Then he stormed away, even though he only went as far as the curtained-off sleeping alcove. There, he took off his boots and curled up on his cot, willing away tears of frustration and trying to his best not to hear what was going on in the command tent mere feet away. 

Such was Thranduil’s exhaustion that he fell asleep trying not to listen. He half-awoke when his father stroked his brow and then pressed a kiss against it, but they didn’t have an opportunity to talk until the next day. 

“Thranduil, I do not doubt your word,” Oropher both chided and reassured his son at the same time, “But it will take some time and continued wise decisions on your part to restore my trust in your ability to . . .properly assess threats against your person.” 

“I understand,” said Thranduil, for what else was there to say? Still, he tried, “But, Ada, I’m doing everything that I can. Every task, every chore, everything that you’ve asked me to do. And all of that on top of my regular duties and the fighting. I need – I want – for you to give me the benefit of the doubt. Or at least,” Thranduil asked with a sigh, “Wait until we’re alone to demand of me whether I’ve forsworn myself.” 

Oropher sighed himself, and then said, “Ion-nin, it is not your intentions that I question. Only your judgment. And yes, I will try to do so more privately in the future. It was only my concern for you that prompted me to speak as hastily as I did.” 

“I know,” Thranduil replied with a strained smile, “And I’ll try to handle being questioned on . . . arguably reasonable grounds . . . with more maturity.” 

Father and son exchanged a look of intermingled respect, affection, and exasperation at one another’s incomprehensibility. 

“You didn’t do too badly in that respect, laes-nin,” Oropher allowed at last, “Luthavar even spoke to me on your behalf. And I must agree that you have labored mightily at very difficult jobs, in addition to your normal duties, which are demanding enough. With that in mind, I . . .” 

“No, that’s not necessary,” Thranduil interrupted. 

“You didn’t let me finish.” 

“I know what you’re going to say, and you don’t have to. You said until Yule. That’s near enough now. You don’t have to let me off early.” 

“There are all too many things that I HAVE to do, ion-nin. This, you’ve earned, and I want to do.” 

“And I think I’ve earned the right to make the choice whether I want to accept an early out when you offer it.” 

Oropher shook his head and smiled bemusedly, “You can be the most mind-boggling elfling, did you know that?” 

“Is that a yes?” Thranduil asked, with a smile of his own. 

“Yes, ion-nin. While my offer remains open, you may do as you choose. Except with respect to accompanying your cousin Luthavar to negotiate with the Falathrim. That will take the place of your punishment duties for the duration of the time he wishes your assistance. I don’t want you over-tired.” 

“We’re all over-tired, Ada,” Thranduil pointed out. 

“Any more than necessary, Thranduil,” Oropher said firmly. 

“Yes, Ada,” Thranduil allowed, knowing from experience that this wasn’t an argument he could win, and feeling like he’d won something just by getting to decide himself when he’d been punished enough. 

Thranduil didn’t think that his gwedyr would understand, so he didn’t tell them. He did tell Luthavar, who still didn’t quite understand. 

“I would have have accepted almost any circumstance that made it so that I didn’t have to scrub dishes and dig privy trenches, Thranduil,” Luthavar told him, his almondine charcoal eyes filled with horror at the very thought of such activities, even as he reached beyond his own inclinations to allow, “But I understand very well wanting to make your own decisions. You should do what you think is right for you.” 

And Thranduil did. He helped Luthavar arrange for a trade of bowstrings and fletching services from the Greenwood and its soldiers in exchange for marshflower oil and bitterleaf from the Falathrim. The bitterleaf, Thranduil had learned when he went to Nestorion to learn whether the Falathrim might have anything else that could take the place of the herbs that Greenwood’s healers were running short of, could take the place of the bilberry when it came to treating dysentery. Humans and dwarves were more susceptible to such ailments than elves, but it was functionally the same as a poisoning, and elves were not immune to poison. 

Then, when those negotiations had come to an end, Thranduil went back to spending his spare time dish washing, horse grooming and ditch digging. He wasn’t sure if he’d keep up with it until Yule, especially not now that he had the option to stop whenever he liked, but he saw no reason not to continue at least until the allies or the Enemy began a new offensive. 

When it came to ditch digging, Thranduil had sometimes gained the company of Fileg. 

“Your friend is looking at me funny again,” Theli said under his breath to Thranduil, while at the same time he gave Fileg a mildly worried look. 

“Don’t trouble yourself about it, Theli,” Thranduil casually reassured the younger elf, “I’m fairly sure that it’s only because Fileg thinks that you are funny.” 

“Really? Why?” 

Thranduil thought about explaining why Theli’s mangling of the term “Noldorin elves” to “Moldy elves” was so funny, and how much Fileg wanted to introduce Theli and that particular malapropism to the stuffy and superior Lord Loxano, but in the end he said only, “I’m not exactly certain.” 

“Hunh,” replied Theli neutrally, but he did stop eyeing Fileg sideways as if the older ellon might suddenly push him into a ditch. He even relaxed enough to start singing a jaunty little ditty about Sauron and his minions having inappropriate relations with a giant crocodile and a foul-breathed kraken. In the song, the sea monster used its multitudinous limbs in very improbable ways. The tune was very catchy, and the profanity and images were, well, physically impossible, but quite creative. 

“Where ever did you learn that?” Fileg asked, clearly amused and even perhaps a touch admiring. 

“From the Men of Belfalas,” Theli reported happily, appearing entirely past his wariness of Thranduil’s cousin as he proudly explained, “I translated it into Sindarin from Westron mostly by myself, although I had to change some of the phrases, they just didn’t translate.” 

Thranduil made a mental note to ask Prince Imrazor of Belfalas about the song in order to figure out which parts didn’t translate. He also decided to ask Imrazor about it in front of his much younger foster-brothers Ciryon and Aratan, and while also in the company of his older foster-brother Elendur. That was in part because it was Imrazor, and in part because Thranduil enjoyed a little bit watching someone else – anyone else - get in trouble with an older brother figure. It happened often enough to Thranduil himself, after all. 

Thranduil didn’t really dislike Imrazor. They had gotten off to a bit of a rough start at first, because Imrazor liked to tease Thranduil. Once Thranduil had realized that Imrazor liked to tease everyone, that it was just the man’s way of interacting with the world, the two had gotten past that awkward beginning and become friends. But it was always pleasant to be able to demonstrate that Thranduil could defend himself by getting Imrazor into trouble. It kept Imrazor’s teasing to a manageable level. 

Fileg, meanwhile, had been continuing to admire Theli’s facility with collecting and translating different amusing profanities, particularly the romantic ballad about Sauron and the lecherous kraken. Thranduil took a sip of mint flavored water from his flask while his cousin and his friend chatted, trying to decide whether he was pleased or a little hurt to not even feel the need to get a word in edgewise. 

Theli, quite pleased with himself, shared that “I’m still having trouble with Sindarin sometimes, so it’s confusing learning Westorn too. But even Master Nestorion thought I’d done a passingly good job of translating this song.” 

Thranduil choked on his water, and Fileg laughed in shocked delight. 

“Did you use the same words when you sang this ballad to Nestorion?” Fileg asked, grinning. 

“Forest Spirits, no!” Theli denied, “Are you mad? Master Nestorion would have been Very Disappointed in Me for using words like that. I don’t want to let him down or make him unhappy, but I still thought that the song was the funny type of irreverent and that he’d like it if I just changed the words so that the lyrics were about a crocodile and a kraken eating Sauron and his minions instead of, um, coupling with them. And Master Nestorion did like the changed song, but even though I fixed most of the rude words and phrases, it still had enough of what he called ‘questionable’ language that he told me not to sing it in front of anyone important, or to use those words about anyone except Sauron and his servants. And I haven’t.” 

“So, none of us counts as important?” Fileg teased in a friendly fashion, “Two high-ranking lieutenants and Junior Officer Naruon, besides these soldiers here?” 

Theli tilted his head thoughtfully, then asked, “I don’t know, are you going to lecture me about singing that song?” 

“Eru, no,” Fileg assured him, “In fact, I want you to teach it to us. Both in Sindarin and in Westron.” 

“See? Then you’re not that important, after all,” Theli told Thranduil’s cousin in a pleased sort of way. 

Thranduil rather liked being thought of as ‘not that important.’ It had the advantage of novelty, if nothing else. And Theli still thought that Thranduil was “not that important” even after knowing that he was the prince. It wasn’t the first time that an elf with no rank hadn’t changed the way he treated Thranduil after finding out that Thranduil was the crown prince of the Greenwood. But it was one of the first times since Thranduil had been a child, playing with other children who simply did not care about such things. It was refreshing, and relaxing, being around someone who simply seemed to like Thranduil for himself, and who didn’t expect anything of him at all besides his company, in whatever sort of mood Thranduil happened to be in. 

And it really was true that Theli didn’t seem to expect anything of Thranduil, or even need anything from him. Well, sometimes Theli needed someone to make sure that he didn’t get hit by senior officers to whom he’d just mouthed off. But he certainly didn’t even ask for that help, let alone ask Thranduil for anything else. 

Thranduil’s time digging ditches came to an end when the Enemy began to press back against the Allied lines of battle about a month before Yule. Thranduil and his unit spent well over a day fighting before being ordered to the rear to rest. Thranduil ended up taking his walking wounded over to the healers’ tents, so that his junior officers could eat and sleep before meeting to debrief and then rotate back onto the front. 

The healing tents were a scene of chaos. Moans and cries of pain were audible well before Thranduil and his warriors came in sight of the ward. When they arrived, they found bloody and battered elves lying everywhere, mostly on cots and stretchers but in some places just on blankets spread over the ground. Towards the rear of the tents, the three master healers and the seven senior healers all looked to be engaged in surgeries, assisted by soldiers with badges proclaiming them battlefield healers. Junior healers were moving between the wounded elves, engaged in triage. 

In the center of the chaos was Theli. For once, the apprentice healer wasn’t smiling. Instead, his heart-shaped face was set in a determined expression. When he saw Thranduil and the bandaged elves trailing in his wake, the blue-robed Theli assessed them quickly but intently. 

Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Theli authoritatively directed, “Walking wounded go over by Lieutenant Parrochil,” Theli pointed at the tall Junior Officer with a battlefield healer’s badge, “He and Healer Lindor will patch up what they can and get you listed for further attention if you need it. Were any of you hit by Enemy arrows or cut by their blades?” 

“Soldiers Oleyrd took an arrow to his collar bone, it got through the armor but not the bone,” Thranduil reported, “And Soldier Rethor has a slash on his upper arm where his elbow greave gave way.” 

“You two, over with Healer Liven then,” Theli ordered in a ‘not-to-be-disobeyed’ tone. Then the short apprentice healer turned his attention to one of Thranduil’s youngest and shyest soldiers, Boron, and inquired of him more gently, “And why are you bleeding?” Theli nodded towards the left side of the ellon’s leather armor, which was indeed beginning to show blood. 

“I . . . I don’t know,” Boron replied, shocked, “I didn’t even notice until now. I thought that I’d just broken my wrist.” 

“Right, you go over with Healer Liven, then, too,” Theli instructed the young soldier forcefully, even as he reached forward to pin a red bit of cloth on the collar of Boron’s cloak. 

“What’s that for?” Boron queried nervously. 

“It just tells the healers you have a wound which hasn’t been thoroughly assessed yet,” Theli assured him briskly, “Now move along, I’ve got more coming in behind you.” 

And he did, about another dozen soldiers. Four of them were carrying a fifth in a makeshift stretcher. Theli trotted towards the stretcher, where he ran his hands gently over the fallen elf. Then he called out loudly, “Collapsed lung, for the surgeons! Who’s free?” 

“No one,” snapped one of the battle field healer assistants, “But Gorvoreg has the shortest line.” 

“Right, you four, that way, then,” Theli directed the four elves carrying the soldier with the collapsed lung, “Someone will be with you and your friend in a minute for triage. Stay to help unless you were hit by an Enemy arrow or blade, in which case go to Healer Liven, over there.” 

Thranduil stayed to help. He wasn’t a healer, but he knew the basics. Keep pressure on a bleeding wound until a healer could by and stitch it. Hold a patient down while a healer re-set a broken bone. Hold a basin while a poisoned elf vomited into it, then try to get some honeyed water mixed with antidote back down that elf’s throat again. The healing tents lacked the immediate kill-or-be-killed intensity of the front line, but they were a battle field of their own nonetheless, and not one that Thranduil would have chosen. 

“Thranduil, are you hurt?” Master Nestorion demanded when he caught Thranduil helping to move an elf with a half-severed leg onto Nestorion’s operating table. 

“No, but it seems as if you lot could use all the extra hands you can get,” Thranduil insisted. 

“When the fighting is over and you have rested, you are welcome here,” said Nestorion, “Until then, get out. Eat and rest while you can.” 

“But . . .” Thranduil began to object. 

“Thranduil, my elfling, please do not make me have to force you to take care of yourself when I have other patients to see to,” Nestorion implored, even as he began positioning the elf with the severely injured leg on his operating table. 

“Right,” Thranduil accepted, “Valar bless your work here, Nesta. I’ll look you up when the fighting ends.” 

“Please do,” Nestorion requested, looking up with a brief, tender smile for Thranduil, “It always eases my heart to know that you are well. And you make a more than fair battle-field healer yourself.” 

“Yes, Sir,” said Thranduil, with a salute that was only half a tease. 

Linwe and Fileg caught up with Thranduil just outside the healing tents. They ate and rested with him. In only a few hours, they were all back with their unwounded elves, circulating back to the front ranks of the fighting again. 

When the fighting was finally over, Thranduil was carefully checked over for wounds by his father. Then there were debriefings, and more debriefings. Thranduil saw Nestorion when he was summoned to Oropher’s tent to tend to Thranduil’s cousin Gelinnas’ broken collarbone. But it was an entire two days later near the middle of the night before Thranduil finally made it back to the healing tents to check in with Nestorion, and to see if the healers had any more need of able-bodied elves. 

The healing tents were quiet now. The operating tables were empty and clean. Cots lay in neat rows in the largest three tents, with sleeping injured elves filling most of them. A few healers were moving between beds checking on patients. More healers were seated at tables near the entrance of each tent, or sleeping in cots themselves near their patients. 

Nestorion didn’t seem to be one of them, so Thranduil sought out the chief royal healer’s own tent. Each of the Master Healers had their own tent, with additional cots inside for patients if they chose to monitor them personally. 

“Come,” Nestorion called in response to Thranduil’s near-whispering his name by the closed tent flap entrance. The prince didn’t want to wake his healer if Nestorion had finally been able to get some sleep. 

Thranduil found Nestorion sitting up at his table, going over what looked to be requisition orders and schedules. 

Thranduil nodded towards the paper work and asked, “Can I help?” 

Nestorion smiled fondly at him, “You already have, by having asked your cousin Elrond if we can re-stock from his healing stores.” 

“I did that?” 

“He said that you did, sometime last month,” Nestorion explained. 

“Oh,” said Thranduil, to whom that month had rather been a blur, “I think maybe I did, but it was more that I was just explaining to cousin Elrond how we were asking Lord Cirdan’s elves for marshberry oil and bitterleaf. And then Elrond offered on his own that we could have anything that they weren’t also running out of, the Imladrin healers I mean. And since they’re re-stocking in part from the supply trains of his distant-nephews Elendil and Isildur, they’re not running into as many shortages.” Over the last few years of the war, Thranduil had learned a lot about short and long supply lines, and the advantages of the former and disadvantages of the latter. 

“Yes, your cousin Elrond and his Mannish kin are usually very generous,” Nestorion agreed, before qualifying that with, “although sometimes I feel that Lord Elrond spreads himself too thin. Which would be concerning enough on its own given that he is Aran Gil-galad’s second in command, but then he also seems to inspire the same fervor of over-industriousness in his healers and elves.” 

Thranduil considered that, then offered, “Well, most Imladris elves fight as well as heal or craft. They have since the Fall of Eregion, from what I understand. Elrond lets Glorfindel insist on it, and Glorfindel is rather, well, you know.” 

“I know enough,” Nestorion agreed, “And if he is too demanding of you, I will certainly intervene.” 

“You really would, wouldn’t you,” Thranduil admired, sitting down on the camp stool beside Nestorion. It was quite something, for someone who wasn’t Elrond or Oropher to take Thranduil’s part against the impressive and authoritative balrog slayer. 

“Of course,” Nestorion affirmed, “I had a word with him before you began your last set of lessons with him, and I believe that Elrond did as well. You may always feel free to come with me if you are concerned that too much is being asked of you, Thranduil. In fact, I wish that you would do so more often. Although I must admit, your cousin Elrond, and even your father, have not always set you a good example in that regard.” 

Before Thanduil could figure out what to say in reply to that, a pile of blankets on one of the spare cots in Nestorion’s tent stirred. A shift in the blankets revealed Theli’s ash-blond braids in more than their usual disarray, and sleepy midnight-blue eyes blinking at them. 

“Go back to sleep,” Nestorion ordered fondly, taking care to enunciate his words clearly, “You have another three hours before I’ll let you go back to work, nestor dithen.” 

Theli’s somnolent eyes moved to survey Thranduil. Apparently satisfied that his friend the prince was uninjured, Theli turned away from them and pulled the blankets back up to make a cave of sorts around his still figure. As Theli had moved his head, Thranduil had seen bits of white stuffed up his ears. 

“What’s that in his ears?” Thranduil asked, not sure whether to be intrigued or disgusted. With Theli and his creative attempts to find new ways to use any material about him in his healing endeavors, one did have to be wary. 

“Bits of cotton,” Nestorion explained with wry, exasperated affection, “If he tries to sleep without them, he’s up at every footstep in the direction of the healing tents, desperate to find out what he’s missing.” 

“About him, Theli I mean,” Thranduil began, not quite sure how to put his concern, and not wanting it to seem as if he was trying to tell Nestorion what to do with his own staff, “The fighting has intensified again, and Ada has told me that I may be done with my punishment duties for. . . you know, whenever I choose. I can’t in good conscience keep up with ditch digging and cauldron scrubbing after this, I’ve too much to do, and I was originally to be done by Yule anyway. I’d honestly rather that Theli not keep on with ditch digging duty, either. I mean, now that I won’t be there anymore to keep an eye on him. It’s not that he starts trouble on purpose, but if whoever is in command, or someone bigger than him, does something that Theli perceives as being unfair to anyone else, he doesn’t hesitate to say something or do something about it. It got him into trouble with Sergeant Caudir, as you know, and almost with one other idiot as well.” 

“Which idiot would that be?” Nestorion inquired intently, his shadow blue eyes concerned and no small amount protective. 

“A soldier named Loendir,” Thranduil decided he might as well share, “He thought it would be funny to trip me into a privy trench for making him work instead of laze about when I was in charge of the detail. Theli caught me, then got up in Loendir’s face about him assaulting me before I could stop him. I broke them up and sent Loendir to his sergeant for discipline, and after that he was fine. Even kind to Theli, in his way, after Theli stood up for the rest of the detail with Sergeant Caudir. And Caudir himself has been demoted and sent home, but . . . I’d really rather not have Theli there without someone as capable as Sergeant Medlithor supervising, and he’s been sent home too, for his leg to heal. After I leave, it’s going to be someone less senior, we just don’t have the personnel to spare someone more experienced for that job. And if that officer makes a soldier work when he’s not well and Theli tells him off for it in the, uh, unrestrained manner that Theli talks to everyone, well . . .” Thranduil raised one palm in the elegant elven gesture that was the equivalent to the cruder Mannish shrug. 

“I see,” said Nestorion, frowning, “You make a good point, Thranduil, thank you. I will bring up the matter with Master Bregalen. Theli is his apprentice, technically, not mine.” 

“Really?” Thranduil exclaimed, surprised. He hadn’t even known that the ancient silvan healer took apprentices. Bregalen was known for his brusque manner and his intolerance of what he considered to be idiocy. Whereas Nestorion was known for his patience in training younger healers when he had the time. 

“Yes,” Nestorion confirmed. With a dissatisfied expression the chief royal healer expanded, “Master Bregalen brought Ecthelion here with him because Bregalen had worked with Ecthelion before Ecthelion came to Amon Lanc for formal training three decades ago, and knew him to be good at triage, even in overwhelming situations. Which Ecthelion indeed is, to his credit. However, Ecthelion is also young for his age. Master Bregalen pays him little notice except during such unpredictable times as he decides that he wants Ecthelion’s assistance with something. Theli is usually present at such times. When he’s not, Bregalen will take him to task for it. Other than that, the extent of Master Bregalen’s care of Theli is to tell him ‘not to do that again’ whenever he does something foolish. So I have taken an interest.” 

That did a lot to make clear to Thranduil why it was that his healer was looking after an apprentice. 

“I think that it’s good for Theli that you have taken an interest,” Thranduil told Nestorion, “And he seems very pleased by it. He thinks very highly of you.” 

“Yes,” Nestorion agreed with fond exasperation, his gaze flickering warmly to the sleeping apprentice, “It would please me more if he would show that respect in the form of actually listening to my advice, but I do believe that he does his best.” 

Nestorion turned his warm regard back to Thranduil, “As do you, my elfling, always. And you look tired as well. Why don’t you lay down beside Theli? He had just washed when I diverted him here from the healing tents, and I’ve never known him to snore.” 

That idea seemed awfully appealing to Thranduil, who had gone to see if Nestorion needed help in lieu of sleeping. 

“I’ll inform your guard,” Nestorion offered kindly, “He can send word to your father and catch a nap himself in the main healers’ tent. And I promise to wake you in time for you to prepare for breakfast with your father and his officers.” 

“Thank you, Nesta,” said Thranduil, deciding to take him up on the offer. Oropher himself was in a meeting with Ereinion Gil-galad and the other army leaders which had already gone late, and he might not even be back if Thranduil left now to sleep in their own tent. 

Nestorion helped Thranduil to unfold another cot next to the one that Theli was curled up upon. Once Thranduil had taken his boots off and gotten himself settled, Nestorion laid a soft blanket over him and then pressed a kiss his prince’s forehead. Just as Thranduil’s eyes closed, Nestorion whispered a blessing in Nandorin, which Thranduil knew was Nestorion’s first language, too. The royal healer didn’t speak the same strange mellifluous dialect that Theli did, but many of the words and gestures were the same. 

Thranduil listened as Nestorion exchanged a few words with Thranduil’s guards, then returned to the scrolls on his desk. Thranduil fell asleep to the scratch of Nestorion’s quill against the parchment and the healer’s quiet, soothing voice humming a restful tune. And, as promised, Nestorion woke Thranduil up well in time to meet his father for breakfast.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” ~ James Boswell
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs

Thranduil didn’t see Theli more than in passing until well after Yule. Once the weather had begun to warm again, Thranduil, Linwe, and Thranduil’s guards participated in a hunting and foraging trip with some of the Imladrin elves and Prince Isildur, Isildur’s son Elrendur and their guards.   
The Imladrin camp was their final stop before venturing back behind the battle lines towards the wild lands of Emyn Muil beyond Mordor’s borders. Such hunting trips helped to re-stock the food supplies of the Allied Kingdoms and also provided a regular rotation of scouting to the rear, to make sure that the Enemy’s army had not managed to sneak around them to the rear in force. 

The mountains of Mordor were far better known to Sauron and his creatures than they were to the elves of Greenwood and their allies, so such infiltrations of the Allied Kingdoms’ lines did happen on occasion, to Captain Glorfindel’s particular frustration. Currently that worthy was lecturing Elrond’s Quarter Master, Lord Erestor. 

“Keep your guard up,” the Balrog Slayer urged his fellow high officer of Imladris, “I do not want a reoccurrence of what happened the last time you led a scouting foray.” 

“I thought that was why you were sending me with Thranduil and Isildur this time, Anatar,” Erestor teased Glorfindel affectionately, “As you trust their vigilance more than you do my own.” 

“Hmmph,” snorted Glorfindel, “You all must practice constant vigilance. But I do not want you coming back here full of holes again, Erestor.” 

“Yes, yes, Anatar, I know,” Erestor soothed, “Thranduil and Isildur are excellent scouts and warriors. You’ve trained them yourself. And you personally selected them to lead this trip.” 

“That’s not enough, Erestor. The last time you were shot out of your saddle while you were busy directing a retreat. You need to pay cursed better attention, elfling.” 

By this point even the dignified Erestor was blushing, “I promise that I’ll be extremely careful, Anatar Glorfindel.” 

Under normal circumstances Thranduil found the elegant Erestor to be somewhat fussy and had limited patience for him, despite Erestor’s kindheartedness and unfailing courtesy and friendship to Thranduil and his gwedyr. But witnessing the poor ellon be lectured so sternly and bluntly by Glorfindel in front of not only a half dozen Imladrin soldiers but also Thranduil and his warriors and Isildur and Elendur and their guards, even though of them all only Thranduil was in ear shot, made the prince feel quite sympathetic towards Erestor. 

Although Thranduil could also understand why Glorfindel was so worried for Erestor. Unlike most of Arda, Thranduil knew that Erestor actually was Glorfindel’s grandson. So far as even most of Elrond’s council knew, Erestor’s addressing Glorfindel as ‘Anatar’ – the Quenya term for grandfather – was just a bold joke about Glorfindel’s considerable age on Erestor’s part, which Glorfindel accepted by addressing Erestor as his grandson in turn. 

The two were very fond of one another and hardly ever argued. That was in stark contrast to Glorfindel and Erestor’s father, Arandil, who couldn’t even be in the same room with one another without getting into an explosive argument about something. 

“You had cursed well better be extremely careful, inyonya,” Glorfindel threatened, “As if they bring you back here on a stretcher again, you’ll be going back to Imladris as soon as you’re well enough to travel.” 

“Anatar, that’s not funny,” Erestor objected, a hint of temper making his normally beneficient countenance more stone-like than usual. In fact, he sounded – and looked – a little bit like Glorfindel himself.

“I’m not jesting, Erestor,” Glorfindel replied, although he softened somewhat at Erestor’s obvious distress. At least more so than Thranduil could remember Glorfindel softening at anyone else’s distress. 

“You promised me – you swore to me,” Erestor said fiercely, “That you would not do this. That if I trained as you wished, as often and as determinedly as you wished, that you would not try to send me from Elrond’s side when it came to War.” 

“And now I’m telling you that you have to cursed well pay attention to what is going on around you to the high standard that I wish, or I will by-Valar get Elrond to send you home. So pay attention, Erestor,” Glorfindel ordered.

“Yes, Anatar,” Erestor managed through gritted teeth. 

“He can be the most annoying ellon,” Thranduil said sympathetically to Erestor once they were on their way. And well out of Glorfindel’s hearing. 

“He’s lost a lot in his life,” Erestor explained, even his anger and frustration with his grandfather not blinding him to seeing Glorfindel’s point of view, “He was taken from Atto by Morgoth’s attack on Gondolin when Atto still really needed him.” 

“And now he’s manipulated Ereinion Gil-Galad into keeping your Ada safe in Lindon,” Thranduil said, torn between marveling at the normally direct Glorfindel’s diplomatic achievements and feeling sorry for Arandil. [Arandil the pacifist add notes] 

“Into appointing Atto as his regent in Lindon,” Erestor corrected Thranduil with gentle, wry good humor, sounding much more like himself, “Which is a very prestigious appointment, and involves a fair number of pirate-fighting and rear-guard covering strategies. They need a good military mind in that position, Thranduil. Just like they need your mother and her wise captains in the Greenwood.” 

“I’d never question that,” Thranduil assured Erestor, thinking to himself that he’d never question it in part because his lovely mother would skewer him with her gaze alone if he did so, “But still. Your Att . . . I mean, Captain Glorfindel, frustrates me, at times, with his authoritarian tendencies. And he’s worse if anything with you and Elrond, at least if he’s upset or you’re in private.” 

“It’s only because he cares,” Erestor scolded Thranduil gently, “And he really does care about you. The only elf he’s spent more time and effort on than you in these past months is Elrond.” And they both knew that Glorfindel did not accept anything less than near-perfection from Elrond. Not, at least, when it came to martial matters. 

“Well, let’s do our best to avoid anything too exciting, or at least to see it coming before it sees us,” Thranduil resolved. He very much did not want Erestor to get sent home to Imladris. Glorfindel would be twice as unbearable as he already was without Erestor around to soften him. 

“From your lips to the Valar’s ears, Thranduil,” Erestor agreed wholeheartedly. 

Most of the hunt went quite smoothly. They stocked up on game, fish, herbs, and feed for the Allied camps’ horses. They saw signs of the passage of orcs and an Easterling caravan, but nothing recent. And then on the last day, only a few hours before they were within horn’s call of the rear lines, they were set upon by easily three times their own number of orcs, mounted upon wargs. 

“Circle up, archers forward!” Isildur commanded. 

Thranduil gave Linwe and his guards the signal to follow the human prince’s orders. The Greenwood warriors’ longer bows gave them the better range, so at Thranduil’s direction they spaced themselves out around the circle. Much to Thranduil’s guards’ dismay, and somewhat to Linwe’s, the Crown Prince managed to get himself situation in between Erestor and the Imladrin warrior Duathben. 

“Push south ward, but mind their second rank!” Isildur’s voice rang out, clarion clear against the din of battle. 

Thranduil obeyed, keeping a weather eye on the skirmish as a whole, as well as on Erestor by his side. Elrond’s dearest friend was a skilled warrior, but reading the flow of combat was not his strength. Thranduil was not sure that it was possible for him to repay Elrond for everything his cousin had done for him over the years, but keeping Erestor safe was certainly something he knew that Elrond would appreciate. 

The hunting party was holding their own against the orcs, and even making some new ground. Thranduil held their odds at better than even of defeating their foes, depite the number disadvantage. But it had reached the stage of the skirmish where less fit or experienced warriors began to falter. Erestor was not one of them. However, he did, Thranduil’s opinion, suffer from an excess of compassion. The injured and the faltering drew Erestor’s attention when he would haave been better off to focus on their foes. 

“Erestor, eyes forward,” Thranduil commanded, drawing on his many recent lessons to manage what Linwe told him later was a tolerable impersonation of the great Balrog Slayer. However good Thranduil’s impression was or wasn’t, it did work to get Erestor to pay attention to the living orcs who were trying to kill them rather than on their wounded. 

Even though their situation was not what Thranduil would have considered desperate, he was nonetheless greatly relieved to hear a horn calling out the song of Lothlorien. He was even more relieved to see a rain of arrows fall amongst the ranks of orc just after the silver notes sounded. 

“Steady on, keep between the Lorien laggers and the Enemy,” Isildur charged them. 

“Do as Gondor says!” Thranduil roared when his own elves and Erestor’s were slow to follow Isildur’s directions. From the angle of the arrows still falling to excellent affect amongst the orcish ranks, the Lothlorien party was not only small and unmounted, it had also left itself dangerous exposed on the hillside in order to get the best angle for downing the Enemy while keeping Isildur’s hunting party out of friendly fire. 

Within another half hour the fighting was all over. Thranduil made sure that all of his elves – and Erestor – were well. Then he went to check on the Lothlorien archers. 

There were a dozen of them, clad in no more than green tunics and hunting leathers. Thranduil’s cousin King Amroth had accepted his uncle Celeborn’s offer to provide his soldiers with conventional armor and armaments. But even so, the Lothlorien warriors were not all willing – or trained - to use them. Only about a thousand of them were professional warriors, and many of those were Amroth’s and Celeborn’s own guards. The rest were mostly hunters with no more than the training which the Greenwood gave to its militia elves. 

That lack of training had quite likely been the death of Thranduil’s cousin Amdir, the former King of Lorien who had died in one of the War’s earliest major engagments. The Lothlorien lines had been overrun, and many of their support staff – smiths, carpenters, healers, launderers, ellith and ellyn alike – had been slaughtered. Amdir himself had died in the chaos. He’d died bravely, but little comfort that was to his grieving son, Thranduil’s cousin Amroth. 

If Thranduil and Oropher’s cousin Celeborn, who was Amdir’s uncle and Amroth’s great uncle, had been allowed a free hand in developing and ordering Lothlorien’s military, then the disaster most likely would never have happened. Celeborn, like Oropher and Thranduil’s uncle Vehiron, and General Rochendil, for that matter, had been trained by Elu Thingol’s grand army of old Doriath. 

Most of Lothlorien’s military elves and officers had followed Celeborn to aid the survivors of Eregion in what became the War of the Elves and Men in Sauron some 1,700 years ago. Over half of them had perished in that endeavor. Lothlorien itself, under Amdir, had always been a peaceful kingdom. In the opinion of Amdir and his most senior advisors, excepting only Celeborn and Galadriel, Lothlorien had seen no need for a large standing army. 

And yet Amdir had still answered the call to war when it came. And Lothlorien under Amroth still fielded an army, albeit a much diminished one. But Amroth was far more willing to listen to Celeborn’s counsel than his father had been. As a result, the lightly armored Lothlorien forces were used primarily for archery support and scouting. 

Given that, Thranduil had not been particulary surprised to have run into a Lothlorien hunting and scouting party on their way back to the main encampments. He was, however, surprised to see Theli’s familiar face amongst the Lothlorien elves. 

The Greenwood apprentice healer was dressed in much the same way as the Lothlorien elves, save that his tunic was blue instead of green, and bore a healer’s badge. Theli had a bow and a half-empty quiver of arrows slung over his shoulders. That in and of itself wasn’t odd – almost every Greenwood ellon had been trained in archery. But he also wore a plain but serviceable sword at his belt. 

“Do you know how to use that?” Thranduil asked, pointing to the sword at the apprentice’s waist. 

Theli grinned at him, then held one of his hands level and wiggled it from side to side in the Mannish gesture for ‘both yes and no.’

The elf beside Theli, who looked startlingly like Elrond, sighed, and said to Thranduil in a manner that made it sound like a promise, “We’re working on it. He’s improving.” 

Theli rolled his eyes affectionately, then told his companion, “Emlyn, I’m going to go help Healer Apseno with the wounded. 

“Very well,” said the elf who looked like Elrond but spoke with Theli’s and Adan’s liquid accent, “But do be careful, imp.” 

“I don’t know why you always say that,” Theli said bewilderedly, as he hurried off. 

“Neither do I,” replied the other elf archly in Theli’s wake. 

Then the elf turned his attention to Thranduil and nodded crisply, “Sir. How can Lothlorien be of assistance?” 

“Further assistance,” Thranduil allowed with a wry but grateful smile, “Your arrival and assistance have been already much appreciated, soldier.” 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner,” the ellon apologized, “Visibility wasn’t good on that hill. If they’d seen us before we had the range on them, then we’d have been worse than useless.” 

“You did well,” Thranduil told him, “They still had the numbers to cut around us and go after you. It was better to wait until you had established a good position. I trust that you’ll report to Aran Amroth or Lord Celeborn when you return?” 

“To my Captain, Sir, and I trust that he’ll report to them.” 

Thranduil nodded his acceptance of that, “Make sure that you report everything that you saw of the orcs’ numbers and tracks, and do make yourself available if Lord Celeborn or your King have any questions.” 

“I’ll make sure that happens, lieutenant,” the ellon assured him, looking even more like Elrond in a somber, earnest mood. The ellon’s eyes were just a touch more blue than Elrond’s blue-gray, and his black hair had reddish auburn highlights instead of Elrond’s true raven’s-wing iridescence, but still. Remarkably like Elrond. 

“Lieutenant Oropherion,” Thranduil offered, despite feeling Linwe’s concerned glare hitting his back. Thranduil didn’t usually give out his true name in the field, not unless they were among elves who already knew who Thranduil was. But Thranduil felt the need to make an exception for this elf who reminded him so much of his cousin. He wasn’t entirely sure why. 

The Lothlorien archer nodded back, “I’m Emlyn Erynion. I’m in charge of this hunting and scouting party.” 

“You’re from the Greenwood,” Thranduil observed, based on the ellon sharing the same Nandorin accent as Theli and Adan. Emlyn’s accent was less evident than Theli’s and more so than Adan’s had been, suggesting that he had left his home sometime in between Adan’s departure and Theli’s. Or perhaps just that he had a better ear for languages than Theli. 

“Yes,” said Emlyn, his blue-gray eyes surprised, “I was born in the north of your Wood, Lieutenant-my-Prince. But I left my first home, and settled with my family in the south, between Amon Lanc and Lorien. And I’m happy to be from the Greenwood, your highness. I owe your father and yourself my fealty as well as Aran Amroth, but your army wasn’t taking village hunters as volunteers. Aran Amdir’s was. Well,” the ellon finished with a sorrowful smile, “Aran Amroth’s army now.”

Thranduil nodded solemnly, “It’s good of you to serve, Officer Erynion. Even if you did have to join someone else’s army to do so.” 

Emlyn smiled ruefully at that, and he looked like Thranduil’s cousin Celeborn when he did that. It was downright odd. 

“My Daerada fought in the War of Wrath, he trained me,” Emlyn explained, “so I have some experience. And my wife trained me further. Her grandfather fought in the Battles of Beleriand, and he trained her. At this point, I’m one of the better trained infantry elves in Aran Amroth’s army. But,” Emlyn’s smile turned wistful, “What I’m really looking forward to is going back home to the Greenwood, and being nothing more than a hunter and elf-of-all-trades again. I miss my wife and my sons, but I came here so that – this,” Emlyn gestured towards the dead and dying orcs the elves and Men were piling together to burn, “doesn’t ever make it to the Greenwood.” 

“Yes,” Thranduil agreed, “That is worth fighting for.” 

Then Erestor and Elendur called for Thranduil to come listen to what a talkative orc was willing to share about why the orcs had been out in such force. By the time Thranduil finished with that, the hunting party, enlarged by the Lothlorien scouts and Theli, was ready to move back to the main encampments. 

Later Thranduil would regret that all he could tell his cousin Celeborn’s adopted sons of their father’s war service was that he had met their father Emlyn once, and that he had been favorably impressed. Theli had many stories of his cousin Emlyn’s kindness and bravery from the War, and shared them freely, but he was only one elf. Like all war orphans, like Thranduil’s own foster-son Thalion Aerandirion, Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil were hungry for details of their father’s life. Thranduil would regret later that he had so few to give them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
>  
> 
> Quote: 
> 
>  
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs

Not long after the hunting foray turned skirmish during which Thranduil met Emlyn, Thranduil, accompanied as almost always by his guards, was on his way back to his father’s tent following a visit to Isildur’s sons. Visiting with the princes of Gondor and Arnor hadn’t been Thranduil’s original plan for the evening, but he had been in need of a distraction after the full meeting of the Allies’ war council earlier that afternoon. 

In addition to the fierce, bloody fighting and the continued back-and-forth slog of being in a land where the very earth beneath their feet was inimical to the elves, men, and dwarves, the elves of the Greenwood and Lothlorien found themselves going without an advantage which they were accustomed to having. Lothlorien’s famed seeress Galadriel, Celeborn’s wife and Thranduil’s cousin, was known throughout Middle Earth for using her abilities to protect her home kingdom. 

“When Celebrian was born, I convinced Galadriel to promise me that she would not go to war with me again,” Celeborn had told Oropher, Elrond, Ereinion, and Cirdan at the beginning of the War, “I have held her to her word. I hope that you will forgive me that; I know that we could have used her and her skills here.” 

“I remember that you extracted that oath from my aunt when she was still heavily under the influence of a poppy draught,” Elrond recalled with distinct disapproval. 

“Elrond, hush,” Ereinion scolded his cousin. 

“No, nephew, let him speak,” Celeborn said, “I have a reply. And that is, Elrond, that you may criticize me for trying to protect my wife after such time as you have finally made of my daughter your wife. After you are wed, and after you have had to choose between letting Celebrian do as her honor demands and keeping her safe. Then, and only then, will I accept criticism from you on this matter.” 

“A fair answer,” Ereinion had praised, with another warning look for the still frowning Elrond, “And besides, my Aunt Galadriel’s skills are more accurate with respect to long-term as opposed to immediate events, as I recall from the War of Wrath. It is well that she is keeping Lothlorien safe, as Arandil is safe-keeping Lindon in my stead. And as the Lady Samindel is doing for Mithlond and Queen Felith for the Greenwood.” 

Although Thranduil’s mother Felith was a less-famed seeress, particularly outside of the Greenwood, she was still extremely capable. As much as Thranduil trusted his father and General Rochendil, he missed his mother’s warnings, and more generally her keen insight. Additionally, the majority of Greenwood’s most skilled seers were female, many of them priestesses. Oropher had not brought any ellith to war with his army, therefore they, too, had remained in the Greenwood. As much as Thranduil was glad for their relative safety and their and his mother’s very capable defense of the Greenwood, he missed their abilities. 

Galadriel and Felith could communicate general warnings of danger via their bonds with their husbands. Galadriel actually communicated with even greater clarity when it came to her nephew Elrond, who likewise had the seer’s gift, albeit to a lesser extent that his female relations. 

“Such things usually run along female lines,” Elrond had once explained the matter to a young adult Thranduil, when Thranduil had first begun experiencing his own feelings of foreboding and warning, “that you have inherited some of the gift from your mother, and me from mine, merely makes us the exceptions which prove the rule.” 

Thranduil’s gifts were unclear and undeveloped even compared to Elrond’s. 

“That will change, given time,” the peredhel had assured him, “Most elves have trouble even with basic mindspeech until they reach their dozenth yen. Have patience with yourself.” 

It was easier to have patience when there were more in the way of experienced seers about, Thranduil thought peevishly. In addition to Elrond, Imladris’ army had brought an architect and engineer, Lady Ambaraxiel, who was ancient and an Amaneldi, and had some minor gift of foresight. Last year, Celebrian, who served as Elrond’s regent in Imladris, had sent them a weaver, Saelestiel. She had predicted some enemy attacks in a timely and accurate fashion, but even she admitted that she was more of a weather-witch than anything else, despite having been trained by Galadriel. 

Other than that, the Allied Kingdoms had very little in the way of timely prophetic aid. Which wouldn’t have mattered so much, had they not been so badly outmatched in such power by their opponent. Sauron was a fallen Maia, and far more ancient than Cirdan or Glorfindel or any elf living on Middle Earth. Thranduil desperately wished that he knew how much of the Allied Kingdoms’ planning and arrangements their Enemy could See, even without the use of his eyes or his spies. Thranduil found that thought very troubling. 

And even more so on nights such as this, when both Elrond and Thranduil were troubled by a feeling of . . . wakefulness and targeted malicious intent on the part of the Enemy. Yet neither Elrond or Thranduil could point to any specific place along the lines where an attack might come. Sometimes, that was not the case, and Elrond (for it was usually Elrond) could send a message alerting one camp or another to be watchful for an attack. But on nights like tonight, all they could do was put all of the camps on a heightened state of alert. Which meant extra watches, extra elves and Men and dwarves missing out on their sleep. It vastly irritated Thranduil that they could not do better, and that some blamed his cousin Elrond for them not being able to do better. 

No one blamed Thranduil, or at least no one that the prince knew of, because at his parents’ insistence, his gifts had been kept a state secret. Elrond knew, and Celeborn and Galadriel, but no one else besides Thranduil’s immediate family. 

On nights like this, all Thranduil wanted to do was pace the length of the Allied Kingdoms’ camps, like a wolf prowling the edge of its territory, alert to any threat. However, his father did not approve. So Thranduil had accepted Prince Elendur’s invitation to join him and his brothers and their cousins Meneldil and Imrazor for dinner and card games. Oropher had approved of this use of Thranduil’s time, even though it was frivolous. 

“It will do you well to relax, ion-nin,” the King had told his heir in a kind but firm fashion, “And it is no bad thing to strengthen your relationship with the next generation of our human allies’ ruling family.” 

But now that revelry, as tame it had been, was over. Thranduil flicked his gaze over to Boronthor, the captain of his guard, weighing that worthy’s likely reply to Thranduil’s deciding to take a wander along the length of the Allied lines. 

“Your father expects us home in a timely manner, my Prince,” Captain Boronthor reminded Thranduil gently, but in such a manner as to make it clear that he would accept no princely countermand of Oropher’s expectations. 

“Yes, of course,” Thranduil said, as if he’d never considered doing anything different. The prince had found it best to keep his guard as much off their guard as possible. Extended periods of what Oropher would consider ‘reasonable’ behavior from his heir sometimes lulled Thranduil’s guards into forgetting what their charge was capable of, when his heart or his honor demanded some action other than what his father King Oropher would countenance. 

Thranduil and his guards had not been within the limits of Greenwood’s encampment for very long when Thranduil heard the clash of sword on sword. Three fighters, he judged, and at least one of them criminally inexperienced. 

The prince quickened his pace to investigate the disturbance. It wasn’t forbidden for Greenwood’s soldiers to practice their blade skills one-on-one on their own time, but most chose to attend the group practices and save their precious free time for resting. Also, Thranduil noted with a wince as he heard a particularly wildly timed strike, he couldn’t remember ever hearing a Greenwood soldier hit one blade against another in quite as uncontained of a fashion. 

Thranduil’s guard kept pace with him, and Boronthor even insisted on stepping in front of Thranduil when they came upon the scene of combat. The crown prince rolled his eyes but permitted the overprotective gesture. It wasn’t like Boronthor couldn’t deal with whatever-this-was as well as Thranduil, and the prince wanted to hurry to get the matter dealt with before someone got hurt. 

To Thranduil’s great surprise, he knew the criminally inexperienced swordsman. It was the young apprentice healer Ecthelion, who didn’t even seem to have learned how to fall the right way, Thranduil noted to himself as he watched Theli go up blade to blade with a much larger elf, then get knocked down to the ground, hard, hitting his head as he fell. Not falling that way was one of the first things that Thranduil had learned when he began his training in the warrior’s arts as a small elfling. Falling properly had also been the first skill that Thranduil had been required to show masterhood of as an army trainee. 

The two elves with whom Theli was fighting were not trainees. They were experienced soldiers, but they seemed to have no idea whatsoever of how to train a novice to the blade. For one, they were both attacking Theli at the same time. Mostly through what seemed like luck but was perhaps also determination, Theli managed to roll to his feet and slap the first sword away with his blade. Then he ducked under the second soldier’s sword to punch him in the liver. That fellow went down, even though the blow hadn’t looked that hard to Thranduil. If it had been a forceful punch, it was well-placed, and likely would have resulted in a trip to the healer’s for Theli’s erstwhile opponent. 

The first soldier, however, had only lost a few moments to Theli’s inelegant parry. With his next stroke he sent Theli’s plain but serviceable blade flying, forcing Theli to avoid a crippling blow by falling painfully again. 

“Hold,” Captain Boronthor shouted. 

The two soldiers, trained to obey a superior’s orders, both froze, then saluted Captain Boronthor and bowed to their Prince in his uniform marked with a royal badge. Theli turned his head to regard Thranduil and his guards, but didn’t get up. He did give Thranduil a happy smile when Thranduil stepped out around Boronthor. 

Ignoring Theli for the time being, Thranduil demanded forcefully of the two soldiers, “What is going on here?” 

Theli, whom Thranduil hadn’t even been addressing, pushed himself to his feet and explained, “They are just giving me sword lessons, Thranduil . . . I mean Lieutenant. Like I asked.” 

“Be quiet,” Thranduil scolded Theli sternly, “I’ll deal with you next.” 

Then the prince turned his attention to the two soldiers, “You’re giving an apprentice healer, a non-combatant, sword lessons. And you’re not even using practice blades. You could have seriously injured Apprentice Healer Ecthelion. Do either of you have ANY experience at training recruits to the sword?” 

“No, Sir, Lieutenant,” offered the first soldier, the one with the greater number of yen service knots on his uniform, “But Theli did us a favor and helped us find Yuletide presents to send back to our families. This was all that he wanted in exchange.” 

Thranduil sighed, because of course Theli had. 

“You can give Theli hand-to-hand combat lessons, if he wants,” the prince allowed, “But first I want you both to report to Captain Hadlathon for lessons in how to train inexperienced elves to use a blade.” 

“Yes, Sir,” the soldiers swiftly agreed. 

“Very well,” Thranduil recognized, softening slightly as he added, “When you’ve learned to his satisfaction, then and ONLY THEN can you train other elves to carry a sword. One of the first things that Captain Hadlathon will undoubtedly instruct you is that you are to use blunted PRACTICE BLADES. Do remember that in the future.” 

“Yes, Sir,” the two negligent soldiers chorused again. 

“Off with you, then,” Thranduil allowed, and they wasted no time in moving out of his sight. 

The prince turned his attention to the apprentice healer. “Well, Theli, it looks like you have found a wonderful way to get yourself killed.” 

Theli frowned and insisted, “I was being careful.” 

Thranduil rather doubted that Theli knew the meaning of the word, but he didn’t think it would be productive to argue about it. Instead he instructed the younger elf, “You should see a healer. Those last two falls looked as if they did more than just knock the wind out of you." 

Rubbing at his ash-blond braids where his head had impacted the ground, Theli objected, "I AM a healer." 

Thranduil gave him a dubious look, and reminded him, “You’re an apprentice healer. 

"And I'm not supposed to be getting sword lessons, or even wandering around sussing out deals for the Quartermaster,” Theli appealed in a frantic rush of words, “I'm supposed to be sleeping, which is what I was on my way to do when I found Soldiers Limdir and Parvon and they offered to give me a lesson. And I can't sleep anyway, you see, but I'd rather not explain that."

Thranduil did see, and he was sympathetic. He also wasn’t sure what he could do for Theli. When Thranduil’s nightmares and sleeplessness had grown burdensome, it was his own father who had soothed his son’s fears and helped Thranduil to find a way to relax enough to sleep despite all of the death and destruction going on around them. 

His thoughts on that quandary, Thranduil paused long enough for Theli to add, “And it’s worse than usual tonight, tonight it’s all itchy in my head, but not in any particular place!” 

Thranduil’s regard sharpened, for that was very similar to the way that Elrond had described his feelings about this night’s heightened danger. The peredhel had said that tonight his premonitions troubled his mind, but that no particular point of concern had made itself evident. 

Thinking of that, Thranduil wondered aloud, “You’re from the clannish Nandorin villages north and east of the town of Meordanas hard by the White Mountains, aren’t you, Theli? The villages that the elves of Meordanas say are protected by the Witch of the Northern Woods.” 

Surprise clear in his midnight blue eyes, Theli answered, “Yes. How did you know that, Thranduil?” 

“I knew someone else, from your village,” Thranduil confessed in a pained, quiet voice. 

“Really?” Theli asked, hope and sorrow warring in his eyes, “Who?” 

“He died,” was all Thranduil answered, in part because he was thinking to himself that if Adan had still lived, he could have sent Theli to Adan, to help Theli learn to quiet his fears enough to sleep. Adan would have done that without question, for a fellow elf who had dared leave their first home in order to serve the Greenwood in such a terrible place as this. It made Thranduil miss his old friend all over again. If only the Witch of the Northern Woods, whom Thranduil remembered from Adan’s rare stories was male, had been willing to join the fight against the Enemy! Another male seer, one far older even than Elrond, might have made a difference. 

“I'm sorry,” Theli offered gently. 

Unready to accept the sympathy, Thranduil remarked bitterly, “We could use your Witch of the Northern Woods, here.” 

Theli made an odd face. 

At Thranduil’s irritated expression of inquiry the apprentice healer explained, “He's not really a witch, you see. He's mostly just stubborn. He's good at feeling the forest and asking it to do things, like Master Nestorion is good at healing and you're good with a sword. Grandda Eldun . . . I mean, he, might not even be of much use, here. It's the place as well as him, you see, they're all woven together. And he's,” Theli’s face showed the now-familiar searching expression that meant he was fumbling for the right word in Sindarin, and failing to find it. 

“Adan, my friend from your home, he called your Witch a,” Thranduil paused, and then repeated the phrase as well as he could recall it. “But then Adan refused to explain what that meant.” Adan had also said that if he ever heard Thranduil repeat those words, he’d make him run laps around Meordanas all morning. 

Theli had gasped at the phrase, horror in his eyes. But after a few moments he started to smile a little, shook his head, and explained for Thranduil’s benefit, “It means a gopher who has a romantic love affair with the ground, courts it and, uh, mates with it, and everything. The gopher is that enamored of pretending that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s kind of similiar to a . . .” 

That word sounded almost like Haradric language, albeit as butchered by an elf who still spoke even Sindarin with a strong Nandorin accent. 

Thranduil chuckled, “And that would be?” 

“This Khandian bird that sticks its whole head in the ground, according to some of the Belfalas sailors. The bird’s name isn’t actually a bad word I don’t think, although those sailors know lots of colorful language. So do the Arnorian and dwarven traders.” 

Thranduil wasn’t certain even to the present day why he did what he did next, but he offered to Theli that he personally would train the apprentice healer in self-defense. Starting with how to fall correctly, but moving on from there to bladed exercises if the young elf learned his lessons well. He would teach Theli, if the younger elf agreed to teach him the Nandorin phrases and other colorful language that Theli seemed to absorb by osmosis in his wanderings about the various allied camps. 

Perhaps Thranduil had made the offer because he felt that he owed something to Adan, and that by helping an elf who had experienced some of the same struggles as his old friend, he could pay that debt of friendship. Or perhaps he’d done it because Theli sometimes made Thranduil smile and even laugh, and so little had made the prince laugh since the war began. 

But for whatever reason Thranduil agreed to do it, he did agree. And so, from that point on, Thranduil saw Theli several times a week. Almost every time that the prince and the apprentice healer had liberty at the same time, Theli would seek Thranduil out for lessons. Despite evidencing only indifferent native talent, the young elf worked determinedly at developing his defense skills, and in less time than Thranduil had expected, they did move from unarmed combat and pole-fighting to basic swordsmanship.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 3: Please forgive my lack of medical knowledge! 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” ~ James Boswell
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs

Thranduil also saw Theli again in the Healer’s tents, although fortunately less frequently than he saw him for fighting lessons. Most often Theli was managing the chaos in the entrance to the Healer’s Tents, or even in the dirt outside when the wounded had overflowed the tents themselves. It was also common to see Theli performing various forms of triage himself, once the incoming casualties had been sorted, or if there was a wound which required immediate attention. 

In Thranduil’s experience, it was not uncommon for Theli to grab an absorbent cloth to staunch a wound, while at the same time calling out for a more senior healer to attend to a ‘trickier’ injury, as the apprentice healer was wont to call them. The apprentice also stitched wounds and set broken bones, and other more and more complicated healing tasks as the months of their acquaintanceship continued. 

There came a day when Thranduil was at the Healers just after a battle making sure that his junior officer, Manadhon, had his recurrent knee strain looked at before he damaged the joint further. 

While Thranduil kept Manadhon company and wondered whether his family found it as annoying to make sure that Thranduil saw a healer promptly as Thranduil was finding it frustrating to make sure that Manadhon did, the wounded continued to pour in off the battlefield. 

“Lieutenant, I really don’t think . . .” Manadhon began. 

“You can barely walk, Junior Officer,” Thranduil admonished him sternly, “We’re staying here until you’ve had a chance to be seen by a real healer.” 

But Manadhon was, uncharacteristically for him, not listening to his lieutenant’s words. Instead, his attention was focused on a gurgling warrior being carried into the tent on a stretcher. 

“Galasson!” Thranduil’s junior officer gasped as he limped rapidly over to the prone elf. Thranduil followed, because what else was he to do? 

Theli arrived by the stricken elf’s side at the same time as Manadhon and Thranduil. 

The healer’s apprentice questioned one of the stretcher-bearers, “Arradir. What type of abdominal wound does this warrior have?” 

“Deep stab, upper right, above the stomach,” that elf reported. 

“Punctured liver?” 

“Looks like.” 

“And it smells poisoned,” Theli added, sniffing above the wound even as he helped to move the injured elf from the stretcher to a cot. 

“I didn’t see the blade that caused the injury,” the stretcher-bearer Theli had called Arradir reported, “but we found him lying on the section of the battlefield where the bulk of the Enemy’s forces were made up of orcs.” 

“How sure are you, about the liver?” Theli pressed, “None of the surgeons are free.” 

“I’m certain enough to say that his chances are better with you, now, than waiting for one of the senior healers to free up,” Arradir told the apprentice healer grimly. 

Theli nodded, his face much paler than usual. Then he ordered, “Parrochil, you have triage. Arradir, more towels. Ormen, a basin for washing.” 

The apprentice healer looked up at Thranduil and Manadhon, assessing them, and then asked, “Can you two hold him down?” 

“Will he recover?” Manadhon asked breathlessly, “He’s my cousin.” 

“I need you to hold him down,” Theli repeated as he briskly washed his hands in a basin of soapy water one of the battlefield healer assistants had brought him. 

“Hold his shoulders, Junior Officer Manadhon,” Thranduil reminded his warrior, hoping that the activity wouldn’t put too much strain on Manadhon’s knee. It shouldn’t, and the junior officer seemed to need to be doing something for his seriously wounded cousin Galasson. Thranduil himself held down the poor warrior’s trembling legs, saying a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t Fileg with a perforated and poisoned liver. At least Galasson appeared to be unconscious. That seemed to Thranduil a good thing. 

“Now, Arradir,” Theli commanded, his clean hands armed with a wet sponge and a needle, and poised just above the bloody tunic that Arradir lifted off of Galasson’s stomach. 

Blood immediately began flowing from the wound again, even as Theli’s hands dove into the injured flesh. Thranduil forced himself not to look away. He needed to be ready in case Galasson flinched. Thankfully, the ordeal was over quickly, and Manadhon’s wounded cousin slept through all of it. 

Theli finished bandaging Galasson’s wound and then pinned a yellow ribbon to the elf’s tunic. 

“What is that for?” Manadhon asked. 

“It’s to show that he needs to be checked for fever soon,” Theli explained absently, “If a fever develops, that can be a sign that I didn’t get enough of the poison out, and that we might have to reopen the wound.” 

“But you did get the poison out, didn’t you, Healer?” Manadhon pressed. 

“If it’s similar to what we’ve been seeing this week, then yes, I should have,” Theli answered reassuringly. 

“And you’ve done this before, haven’t you? Many times?” Manadhon asked, his eyes not leaving his cousin’s still form. 

“I have,” Theli agreed. Manadhon nodded in satisfaction, probably because he really wanted to believe it. 

Thranduil, for his part, arched an inquiring eyebrow. 

Theli held up two fingers. Then he paused for a moment, shook his palm in the same ‘maybe’ gesture which Thranduil had seen him use before, and then held up three fingers. 

“Two, maybe three?” Thranduil mouthed in silent outrage. 

Theli shrugged, and then left them to go and help with triage again. 

Thranduil waited with Manadhon, who didn’t want to leave his wounded kinsman’s side. About fifteen minutes later, Master Healer Bregalen found them, his attention attracted by the yellow ribbon. 

“Hunh,” said the older elf, as Theli materialized at his side to explain Galasson’s wound and what he’d done for it. 

Master Healer Bregalen cut the bandaging, examined the stitching, and then nodded in satisfaction, “Looks nicely done,” he told his apprentice as he re-wrapped the wound, “That’s how I would have purged and stitched a punctured liver. Should be fine, and he would have bled out or died from the poison in his liver before one of us could have seen to him.” 

Theli nodded, and gave Thranduil a ‘and that was why, sorry’ look over Manadhon’s shoulder. 

Thranduil nodded back. He knew what it was to have to take on a job bigger than you were ready for, because there was no one else available to do it. It gave him a little more sympathy for Theli, and patience in giving the young elf his sword lessons. 

To Thranduil, one of the curious things about his young friend Theli was how the apprentice could simultaneously be both so sensitive to when Thranduil just wanted to be left alone, and yet at the same time so oblivious to normal social niceties as practiced in the Greenwood. 

Thranduil didn’t even usually have to say that he was too tired, or too preoccupied, to give Theli a lesson when Theli approached him on any given day. Theli could see it from yards away, and would most often just give Thranduil a smile and a wave farewell without even actually approaching the prince. 

However, on one of those days when Thranduil was too tired to fight, Theli did come up to him. Thranduil was not looking forward to having to tell the eager young elf ‘no,’ but then Theli asked, instead of if Thranduil had time to train him, if Thranduil would like some melon?

“Melon?” Thranduil asked, bemused by the non-sequitur. He was seated around a camp fire with his gwedyr, enjoying the warmth of the fire and their company in the midst of the unseasonable cold. Mordor was always either too hot or too cold. 

“Water melon,” Theli clarified, bringing the sweet fruit out of the leather bag he carried. It was a small and slightly bruised watermelon, but a watermelon nonetheless. 

Thranduil hadn’t had any fruit besides old and much abused lemons in months, and he knew that his friends hadn’t, either. Fileg was particularly fond of sweets, and Thranduil could feel his cousin silently urging him not to say no to the apprentice healer’s generous offer. 

If Thranduil had thought for a moment that Theli was bringing him a watermelon because he was the prince, he would have said no. But Theli often had treats to share, usually rewards from the Quarter Master’s staff for foodstuffs and other necessities that Theli had somehow managed to obtain for them. And the young elf gladly shared his largesse with anyone and everyone he spent time with. 

“Thank you,” Thranduil said, accepting the watermelon, and handing it to Fileg to cut into even fifths. Fileg cut the pieces nearly evenly, but one was slightly smaller than the others. 

Thranduil reached for that one, only to have Theli get to it before he did. The younger elf quickly took a bite out of it, as if to discourage his friend the prince from claiming the smallest fruit. 

Thranduil gave Theli a narrow look. In the time that it took him to silently fight with the apprentice healer over the smallest slice of watermelon, Thranduil found himself ending up with the largest, as all the others had all been claimed. He gave his unrepentant gwedyr a disapproving look. 

“So, Theli,” Fileg asked, quite possibly to distract Thranduil from his irritation, “how did you end up with a watermelon?” 

“Well,” Theli began, “I was coming back from helping Master Healer Moicasion with the Belfalas wounded, when I met Balkazir, Balakan, and Balkuman, some Men I know from Imrazor’s camp, and their friends.” 

Those names were Adunaic in origin, but watered down the way that happened when Numenoreans had been speaking Westron for several generations. They were all names which had to do with sea-faring, which signified to Thranduil that these were probably some of Imrazor’s more colorful men. 

Linwe snorted derisively, “They sound like some of Prince Imrazor's pirates."

“Well,” Theli allowed, “they're a bit... rawky?” 

“Raucous?” Thranduil guessed, “It means boisterous to the point of disorderliness.” 

“Yes,” Theli agreed, “They are that, by just about anyone's standards. But they're nice once you get to know them. Anyway, they were gambling for watermelons, and so I asked where they got them from, and they said, from the dwarves. So I went to talk to a mule-handler with Khazad-dum's supply wagons who I know, except he wasn't there. His friend was, and so I drew him a picture of a watermelon and asked him about it. He knew where to find them, so I traded him some tea leaves for that, but he didn't speak much Westron and I don't speak dwarf. . ."

"Khuzdul,” Thranduil interrupted quietly, “That's what their language is called. Almost no one except them speaks it."

"Oh, I see. Kuzzdull then," Theli amended. 

"No, elfing,” Fileg corrected Theli good humoredly, “Khuzdul. There's a mostly silent ‘h’ sound near the beginning."

“Oh. Why do people put mostly silent letters in words anyway?” 

“To confuse elves like you,” Thranduil suggested teasingly. 

Theli sighed, pretending to be much put upon although Thranduil could see a spark of amusement in his dark blue eyes, “Anyway, so the friendly dwarf told me where to find the merchant selling melons, in Khuzdul, and I wrote down the sounds, and went to Imladris’ camp, and read the sounds to Master Scholar Erestor, who does speak, um, Khuzydul,"

"Khuzdul," Thranduil reminded him, in chorus with his gwedyr. 

"Yes, Khuzdul," Theli amended again, this time in a way that made it clear that he was frustrated, but more with himself than with his audience. 

“Pretend that it’s a dirty word, Theli,” Thranduil recommended with wry fondness, “You have a fairly good command of how to pronounce those, in a rather impressive array of languages.

“Ah. Well, anyway,” Theli continued with a blush, “Master Erestor said that, roughly translated, what my new dwarven friend told me meant that the dwarves found someone selling the melons ‘under the mountain,’ and since there is a wagon that the farmers from Gondor have with piles of turnips on it that some people call ‘the Mountain,’ because who wants turnips when there's other things to buy, I went to that farmer, and he had a bunch of melons hidden under the turnips, which he was selling for ridiculously ex-orb-i-mant prices . . .” 

“Exorbitant prices,” Thranduil corrected absently. 

“Yes, ex-orb-i-tant.” Theli repeated dutifully, “but within the dis-cret-ion I've been given by Elder Luthavar and Master Healer Telfindir for spending on fruits and vegetables. So I bought all that the Man had. And Clerk Lamendir told me to take one for myself, and wouldn’t let me not.” 

“You just walk around with that much money?” Linwe asked Theli dubiously. 

“Yes,” Theli affirmed, “I don't look like I have it. Besides, remarkably few elves or men or dwarves stop a healer to rob him. Then the healers wouldn't come back, and they'd be out of luck if they got hurt."

Thranduil chuckled, his sense of humor tickled a bit by that last truth, and a bit by the whole story. The amusement and the sweet taste of the watermelon gave him new energy. 

“Well,” the crown prince and lieutenant proposed, “perhaps we should have your sword lesson today anyway, Theli tithen mellon-nin. So if anyone ever does try to rob you, you can hold on to Greenwood's melon money."

“I’d like that,” said Theli, with a happy smile, “But only if you really have energy. It’s fine by me if you don’t.” 

“I have enough energy to run you ragged,” Thranduil pointed out. It was always Theli gasping by the end of their lessons, not Thranduil, who had been trained in the warrior’s arts since his young elflinghood. 

“Likely yes,” Theli agreed, “But I’m getting better.” 

“Let’s see, then,” Thranduil offered again. 

With another smile, Theli got to his feet. The two elves squared off in a patch of dirt not far from the fire where Thranduil’s gwedyr still sat. The three were mostly speaking among themselves, although occasionally one or another would glance over to make sure that Thranduil was still where they’d left him. And Thranduil knew from experience that Linwe, Veassen, or even Flileg would call a halt to the lesson if Thranduil didn’t stop before he began to truly tire. 

After that lesson, Thranduil didn’t have time for tutoring Theli for quite some time. The Enemy seemed to be getting ready for something, his armies were constantly trying the Allied Kingdoms’ lines. Thranduil spent most of his time fighting, and what time he wasn’t fighting he was in briefings or sleeping. 

During a briefing with Greenwood’s senior military leaders and also Thranduil’s cousins the rulers of Lothlorien and Imladris, Thranduil was quite taken aback to hear Theli’s voice arguing with the voices of Oropher’s soldiers standing guard outside the tent. 

Thranduil’s head snapped up at hearing his young friend’s voice in such an unexpected place. 

“No,” Theli protested to someone, likely the guards. The healer was raising his voice so that Thranduil could now hear him clearly as he said, “I just need to talk to him!” 

“I’m sorry, Apprentice Healer, that simply isn’t possible . . .,” Lieutenant Ephedir, the senior of the guards on duty, said flintily, and then after a pause continued in a rising, disbelieving and then furious tone, “Hey! Hey! Stop that!”

“Ow! Let me go! I just need to talk to Master Elrond!” Theli cried. 

“Excuse me,” Thranduil said to his father and the other leaders, torn between incredulity and irritation as he stalked out of the tent. 

The scene directly outside the entrance to the command tent was much as Thranduil had expected. Lieutenant Ephedir had Theli held in a headlock, and was understandably more focused on containing him than not hurting him. 

“Let him go please, Lieutenant Ephedir,” the exasperated Thranduil ordered,   
“He’s not dangerous! He’s an idiot, but he’s a friend.” 

“Are you certain, your highness?” Ephedir asked dubiously. 

“Thranduil,” Theli said urgently, “I need to talk to Elrond!” 

“Right now?” Thranduil asked, rather dubious himself. 

“Yes! It’s a matter of life and death!” Theli insisted, his midnight blue eyes wide and intense. 

“Come along, then,” Thranduil ordered, waving Theli over to his side despite all of the guards’ clear disapproval. Thranduil hoped that whatever Theli had to say really was urgent in Elrond’s opinion, otherwise it would be Thranduil who was likely to pay for interrupting the important proceedings and escorting an elf who hadn’t sworn vows of secrecy into a secure meeting. 

Theli tried to run past Thranduil. The prince secured his hold on his young friend’s shoulder, but compromised by quickening his own speed. Thranduil noted Theli’s eyes flying to Elrond and the stiffness in the apprentice healer’s shoulders easing as he did so, and then easing even more as he saw a baffled Nestorion at the table as well. 

“Master Healer Elrond,” Theli said with breathless desperation, “I need you to come with me to the Belfalas camp, fast. Because these two Men stumbled over the lines into the Belfalas camp from the Enemy’s camps, trying to kill each other. They both claim that the other one is a spy for the Enemy. Imrazor isn’t there, he’s on a hunt, and . . .”

“Imrazor?” Thranduil’s cousin Lord Celeborn of Lorien asked skeptically, “Do you mean Prince Imrazor of Belfalas in Gondor? And who are you, for that matter?” 

“Yes, him, that Imrazor,” Theli clarified impatiently, “And I’m just here to get Elrond, I work with him and the Mannish healers sometimes. Prince Imrazor isn’t there, in his camp I mean, and his Captains can’t tell which of the Men is lying about being a spy. The drugs the Belfalas healers are giving the Men to . . . .to interry . . . them about their loyalties aren’t working.” 

“Interrogate, Theli,” Thranduil corrected absently, “‘Interry’ isn’t a word.” 

“Interr-o-gate them,” Theli repeated obediently, and then rapidly added, “Master Healer Acarmo, the leader of the Belfalas Healers, says that the suspicious Men may have . . . immnities?” 

“Immunities, Ecthelion,” Nestorion supplied, “It usually means that they have been treated with potions, giving them these immunities, so that normal truth-compelling drugs do not work on them.” 

“Immunities,” Theli clarified gratefully, “Thank you, Master Healer Nestorion.” 

Hopefully, the apprentice asked, “Could you come, too, Master Nestorion? As well as Master Healer Elrond? You know a lot about potions. And I’m worried because one of the Captain’s officers, he keeps saying that they should just kill both of the Men to be certain, and that isn’t right.” 

“I will ask, Ecthelion,” Nestorion said kindly, but with grave authority, “However, you are in the presence of your King. It is customary to bow and address him as your Majesty.” 

“Magnesty? What is a . . . magnesty?” Theli queried, looking between Thranduil and Nestorion in helpless confusion. 

“He’s my father,” Thranduil found the patience to explain in the face of his young friend’s honest bewilderment, “He led us here, and is responsible for all of our well-being while we’re here. You can also address him as “Your Grace.” It’s like calling Nestorion “Master Nestorion,” or calling me “Lieutenant.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, your Grace,” Theli artlessly apologized to Oropher. 

“You’re sorry for interrupting our meeting, also,” Thranduil prompted, still patient but also stern. 

“And for interrupting,” Theli added with a nod, “But, please, can . . .” 

“Will,” Thranduil corrected, because it was by then habit for him to fix Theli’s grammar and mangled vocabulary. 

“Will Master Healer Elrond and Master Healer Nestorion come to help?” Theli pleaded. 

“Elrond?” Oropher said, regarding their cousin of Imladris, “We can spare you, if Imrazor’s security is truly at risk.” 

“Thank you, Oropher,” said Elrond, following Thranduil’s father’s lead and speaking informally, “It certainly sounds from Apprentice Healer Ecthelion’s report that such is the case. Master Nestorion, will you join us? I would appreciate having your expertise available to us.” 

Nestorion looked to Oropher for permission, “Aran-nin?” 

“As you wish, Nestorion,” Oropher generously allowed, “But do take care.” 

“I’ll look out for Nestorion as well as Elrond,” Glorfindel pledged, as he got up to follow his lord. 

Oropher nodded his acquiescence to that, seeming relieved. He even permitted Thranduil to join the party, likely because Glorfindel was taking charge of security. And also because several of Thranduil’s guards followed as well. 

The party of Theli, the two master Healers, four Imladris guards under the command of Glorfindel, and three of Thranduil’s guards followed Theli rapidly through the lines. 

Theli’s chosen route was an ‘as the crow flies’ path to the Belfalas camp. Thranduil was shocked and appalled that the perimeter guards at each camp either didn’t notice them at all, or simply said ‘hello’ to Theli and his companions, as if their job weren’t to keep track of who was going where and disallow the passage of those who had no business entering their commanders’ camps. 

Glorfindel surprised Thranduil by accepting the situation without cringingly critical and profane commentary. 

“It’s the Elrond effect,” Glorfindel explained to his student when Thranduil voiced his criticism, “I’ll send someone later to talk to the guards on duty for their lapses, make no mistake on that. I’ll even do it myself if I can find the time with how busy Elrond and my other duties are keeping me these days.” 

“But it’s Elrond, you see, Thranduil-my-student,” Glorfindel continued, “So far as I’ve ever been able to tell, it’s the effect of him being of the line of Luthien. Your many-times great-aunt Melian hid an entire civilization from Sauron’s master for thousands of years. Elrond is her descendant, and when he doesn’t want to be noticed, he can shield himself or even a group from even Sauron’s notice. For a time, at least. It can be cursedly inconvenient when Elrond decides to avoid, for instance, ME. But I was grateful for his ability when it helped to hide the survivors of Eregion from Sauron’s armies until Lindon, Numenor, and Lorien came to our aid during the last war.” 

“Oh,” said Thranduil, who had rather wondered if it might not be Theli. When the young apprentice healer didn’t want to be noticed, Thranduil had noticed that even alert elves didn’t see Theli until he was already in their midst and chose to speak to them. 

“Where in the blazes IS Imrazor, if he’s not in his camp?” Glorfindel inquired irritably of Elrond. 

“On a hunting and scouting trip to the rear of the army, or so I had been told,” Elrond replied, stilling to a stop just inside the Belfalas lines as he watched a soldier helping a stumbling fellow to walk in the direction of the healers’ tents. 

“Although he is apparently not,” Elrond said resignedly, and then called out to the apparently drunken Man, “Imrazor, nephew-mine, what have you done to yourself now?” 

“It’s a long story,” answered the dirty and bloodied Imrazor, allowing his companion to take even more of his weight as he gave Elrond a tired but game version of his normally insouciant smile. 

“I’m sure that it is,” Elrond conceded. Then the peredhel turned to the most mountainous of his own guards and asked, “Coronon? Could you carry Imrazor to the healing tents so that my foolish great-nephew doesn’t injure himself further?” 

Coronon graciously obeyed as Imrazor protested. 

“Quiet, Nephew,” Elrond ordered Imrazor impatiently, “You have a situation amongst your own men to sort out. And the quicker, the better.” 

Imrazor wisely ceased his protest and let Guard Coronon carry him. They made good time to the Belfalas’ healer’s tents. 

Imrazor was able to quickly sort out which of his Men was the double-agent, as he had apparently been IN the Southron camps that very day, and had been betrayed by that same double-agent. 

“Ah, Elrond, Thranduil,” Imrazor appealed once the immediate crisis was over, “Could you please not tell Atar Elendil that I was personally involved in this almost-disaster?” 

“No, Imrazor,” Elrond told him flintily, “You are going to tell your foster-father that you have been spying amongst the Enemy Armies in person again. And I am not going to intervene on your behalf, except to insist that he wait until you are healed to deal with you fully.” 

“But Uncle Elrond,” Imrazor wheedled charmingly, “It was necessary for me to be personally involved, and Atto Elendil . . .” 

“Has no patience for your idiotically risking your own life, and our security, just because you have a reckless streak a league wide?” Elrond inquired archly, “No, my great-nephew Elendil has no patience for that type of behavior, and neither do I. When he’s done with you, you and I are going to have a discussion. How badly that discussion will go for you is somewhat within your ability to control. So if I were you, I would tell Elendil exactly what you have been doing, and I would do it tonight. Glorfindel will take you there,” Elrond finished, with a beseeching look to his own retainer/minder. 

“No, I’m keeping an eye on you and Thranduil, hir dithen nin,” Glorfindel told Elrond in a not-to-be-disobeyed tone, “Lieutenant Caradhon and Guard Coronon will assist Imrazor’s sergeant with taking him – on a stretcher, I presume? – to his foster-father the King of Men.” 

Imrazor groaned and protested, “Not on a stretcher! Atto, Isildur, and Elendur are going to kill me as is, let alone if I worry them by showing up like that!” 

“Good,” Elrond and Glorfindel both told him, and then Elrond continued on to describe Imrazor’s injuries and how they merited a stretcher in a scold-ey tone of voice that Thranduil immediately tuned out. 

Somehow, the whole situation worked out such that Elrond, Thranduil, and Glorfindel all ended up escorting Imrazor to Elendil, and then sitting in on Imrazor’s loud debriefing with Elendil, Isildur, Elendur, and their generals. Likely by some oversight, Theli was still with them. Elrond and Imrazor coaxed out of the apprentice healer the whole story of how he’d run into Imrazor’s arguing loyal and disloyal spies. Apparently, Theli had been hunting for the cousin of the farmer who’d sold him the melons, because he’d heard a rumor that the farmer now had oranges to sell and wanted to track him down again. 

Elrond insisted that Theli accompany him, Glorfindel, Thranduil and Thranduil’s guards on their way back to the Greenwood camp to ‘return’ Thranduil. The Greenwood’s crown prince didn’t think it was worth arguing over whether he needed the escort. And besides, something about Elrond’s manner made Thranduil think that his cousin had something more to say which might be of interest to Thranduil. 

Elrond waited until they were in a straggly stand of trees just inside the Greenwood lines, then he turned to Glorfindel and ordered, “Vorondonya, step away for five minutes if you will, you and my other guards.” 

“Elrond,” Glorfindel began to object. 

“Please.” 

“Very well. But keep at least Thranduil with you.” 

“I will,” Elrond agreed, before asking Thranduil to order his guards to join Glorfindel and the Imladris elves. 

Baffled but willing, Thranduil did so. Captain Boronthor didn’t seem much happier about that then Glorfindel had, but he at least had had enough exposure to Theli not to see the young elf as a threat. 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” Elrond recognized with a smile. Sobering, he turned to Theli and instructed firmly, “Now, Theli. Tell me whatever it was you left out of your explanation.” 

“Um, what?” Theli asked, with a lost expression, “I didn't lie to the King of Men, Master Elrond. I wouldn't do that!” 

“I did not mean to imply that you lied to Elendil, Theli,” Elrond patiently clarified, “However, I do not think that you told him everything. What else were you doing, besides looking for the melon man, when you ran into Imrazor’s arguing spies?”

Theli sighed, then confessed in a rush, “Well, there are certain places where it’s more likely that the Enemy will try the lines such that fighting will break out. And I can tell where those places are because they feel . . . itchy in my head, I guess? Greenwood’s General Rochendil won't let me join Greenwood’s army to fight in the War, but if I'm around skirmishes, of course it’s fine to help fight. And then I'm right there to care for the wounded, afterwards, too.” 

"Theli, you idiot," Thranduil criticized harshly, afraid for his friend, who truly was still a novice with a blade. When Theli wandered about the various camps, he did so equipped with a bow, quiver, sword, and knives, like he was a warrior. Thranduil knew that the apprentice healer was a good, solid shot with a bow, but many skirmishes were too close quarters for any but the very best of bowmen to fight with arrows. 

“Be calm, cousin,” Elrond urged Thranduil, as Theli looked down at his feet to avoid having to face Thranduil’s awakened temper. 

“Theli’s going to get himself killed because he's behaving stupidly, and you want me to calm down?” Thranduil angrily demanded of Elrond. 

Elrond’s lips twitched into a faint smile, "Yes, I do, little cousin mine, because you owe me. And because you wouldn't even have realized what he was doing if I hadn't said something. And I only suspected as much, because my twin and I once did something rather similar during the War of Wrath. At least until our elder foster brother and foster-atar called us on it.” 

Surprise at that rare story from a time Elrond didn’t usually speak of left Thranduil blinking with astonishment as he inquired, “You mean that you got into trouble with Uncle Cirdan?” 

“Yes,” Elrond agreed, his gray eyes twinkling fondly, “with him, and with Ereinion too. A fair amount of trouble.” 

Turning back to his sometimes- student, Elrond continued almost indulgently, “Now, Theli, allow me to tell you what they once told me, and quite rightly, too.” Elrond proceeded to expound upon why what Theli had been doing was too dangerous to be acceptable. 

Thranduil stopped paying attention except to make sure that Elrond had covered everything Thranduil had to say about the matter. With the rest of his attention, Thranduil pondered how Theli’s ‘itchy in my head feeling’ was similar to the way Elrond had described his own premonitions of where the Enemy might try the allied lines. 

Elrond finished his scolding by making Theli promise to come to Thranduil or Elrond if he ever felt that ‘itchy feeling’ again, and then adding, “If you ever find the urge to head off and do this again nigh irresistible Theli-nin, come by my camp, instead.” 

“Why?” Thranduil snapped, surprisingly indignant at his beloved cousin’s behavior, “Theli’s not your elf, Elrond.” 

“Because I once knew how he felt,” Elrond explained, with a gentle stroke to Theli’s ash-blond healer’s braids that made Thranduil, who was accustomed to having Elrond’s full attention, feel slightly jealous. Thranduil also wondered why Elrond had called in his debt to Thranduil over something as seemingly trivial as asking Thranduil not to snitch on Theli’s stupidity. 

After learning much later, in the early Fourth Age, that Theli had been one of Elrond’s closest living relatives in the Second Age, that fondness would make more sense to Thranduil. Elrond hadn’t known then, any more than Thranduil had, that Theli was their cousin. But something in Elrond had known, and Thranduil later thought that something in him had known, as well. That, even then during that dark and difficult time during the War, Thranduil had felt an affinity with the young healer which had smoothed the way to their unexpected friendship in part because of their unknown kinship.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
>  
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” ~ James Boswell
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs

Of course, that unexpected friendship did not escape the notice of Thranduil’s father Oropher, or of Thranduil’s healer and Theli’s sometimes-mentor Nestorion. 

“You've never shown an interest in any of the younglings before,” Oropher queried somewhat incredulously of his son. 

Thranduil raised one palm in the elven version of a shrug, “I like him, Ada. He even makes me laugh sometimes. Do I need to have specific reasons, to make a friend?” 

"No, ion-nin, of course not,” Oropher had agreed, although he was clearly still baffled, “But just do be careful, ion muin nin. You are the Prince, and your showing friendship to a young apprentice healer might easily be mistaken as favoritism, which we cannot well afford.” 

Thranduil sighed, "It’s not favoritism. We were on the same punishment detail. Do you remember, Aran-nin, the one you assigned me?"

"Don't be impertinent, Thranduil,” Oropher scolded, raising one ebony eyebrow archly, “If you will recall, you more than earned that particular punishment.” 

“Yes, Ada,” Thranduil agreed humbly, “But anyway, we got to talking a bit, Theli and I, while we were digging ditches. Theli speaks Nandorin, and he's teaching me that, in exchange for sword lessons." Thranduil did not bother to mention that Theli was mostly only teaching him Nandorin curse words. As well as other colorful language in many different languages which Theli picked up in his various wanderings about the allied camps in pursuit of supplies for the Greenwood and whoever knew what else. 

Nestorion looked unsurprised but very unhappy at this, but did ask, "Thranduil, is he...is he any good at it? He can be rather clumsy, at times."

Thranduil, purposely misunderstanding, asked, "Nandorin? I should hope so, Nesta. It’s his first language, after all."

General Rochendil interrupted with a stern look for his young lieutenant and an answer to Nestorion’s actual question, "Ecthelion Erynion seems to apply himself to his fighting lessons with dogged energy. Someday, he may make an acceptable soldier trainee, in no small part thanks to Thranduil’s excellent efforts. But I would never take an elf who hasn’t been through training into the army, let alone take a raw recruit into combat, as I have explained to your apprentice healer. Twice, at last count.” 

Nestorion looked relieved, but still somewhat torn. Rochendil patted the healer’s shoulder, offering "Maybe he'll lose interest before the war is over. And at least before he ends up in combat again."

Thranduil, intrigued, asked, "When was Theli in combat?”

"Never you mind, ion-nin,” Oropher said dryly, “Or ask your young friend, if you really want to know. Though I'd honestly prefer it if you didn't. You don't need any more terrible ideas." 

“I’ve been very careful of late,” Thranduil protested, mildly offended. 

“Yes, ion-nin, you mostly have,” Oropher agreed with somewhat exasperated fondness, “With the exception of accurately reporting your own injuries, of course.” 

Thranduil sighed, “I will try to do better in the future, Ada, Nesta, ‘Chendil. I promise.” 

“It would ease my heart and mind greatly if you would, Thranduil,” said Nestorion affectionately, “I would much rather see my favorite patient for a social visit or a battlefield medicine lesson than a neglected injury. 

“I’ll do my best,” Thranduil promised, truly meaning it in that moment. After a pause, he asked, “Nesta? What does ‘Grandda Eldun’ mean?” 

“I’ve not heard the term ‘Grandda’ often,” Nestorion answered thoughtfully, “but I believe it’s a variant Nandorin colloquialism for “grandfather.” And Eldun sounds like a Nandorin name.” 

“Oh. I see. Thank you,” Thranduil replied, thinking about how Theli had started to call the Witch of the Northern Wood ‘Grandda Eldun’ before changing track as if he hadn’t meant to say that. Given that ancestry, Theli’s ability to ‘feel’ what the Enemy might be up to in his head on occasion made some sort of sense. 

“Why do you ask?” Nestorion inquired of Thranduil. 

Thranduil paused to think through whether, in light of that new information, Theli might constitute a potential military asset such that he should tell his father at least that much more about Theli. In the end, Thranduil decided against it. Theli had promised that he would come to Thranduil or Elrond if he had another such premonition. If that happened, THEN Thranduil would tell Oropher the whole story. If it didn’t happen, and since Theli didn’t seem to want to advertise himself as the Witch’s grandson, there was really no need to tell anyone about it. 

So Thranduil merely answered, “I’d just heard the word and didn’t know what it meant. Thank you, Nesta.” 

When Thranduil was excused from that report after having been kept behind to answer questions about his association with the hapless young healer who had interrupted the command meeting the previous evening, Linwe asked him with studied patience, “What did you do now?” 

“Nothing,” Thranduil said, counting to ten in his head to keep his temper in check, “Just Ada asking me to be careful that my friendship with Theli – the healer I’m giving sword lessons too – isn’t perceived as favoritism.” 

“Oh,” replied Linwe, “So far, most just think it’s odd. I checked out the apprentice healer, and he seems harmless enough. Except maybe to himself. He ran off and joined Lothlorien’s army for a few months, taking the place of a Lorien soldier because he thought it was his fault that the soldier died of a poison wound. Because your friend didn’t recognize the poison in time to do anything about it.” 

"No wonder he was in trouble,” Thranduil said, “and that Master Nestorion doesn't want him joining the army. Theli's lucky he survived that, walking into combat with no real training." 

"He was the assistant tracker and hunter in his village,” Linwe elaborated sardonically, “which was somewhat like army training. According to what he told General Rochendil, at least."

Thranduil laughed incredulously, and then marveled, “He really went to Rochendil and said that?” 

“Yes, twice, and to task if he could join the army, as well as whatever it is that he’s actually supposed to do,” Linwe reported. 

Thranduil chuckled incredulously, then remarked in a slightly concerned tone, “Crazy elfling." 

"Oh, and you recognize that as crazy, do you, gwador-laes? I suppose there is hope for you, after all,” commented Linwe. 

"Shut up,” Thranduil said without much heat, “And how did you know that, about Theli, anyway?” 

Linwe rolled his eyes, "He's a strange elf who's been hanging about with you. Of course I asked around, about him. What I found out made it seem like he's just a healer in training who sometimes acts remarkably stupid, rather like someone else I know.” 

Thranduil rolled his eyes in turn, "Thank you . . . Lin," He said at last, his eyes twinkling with humor. Linwe gave Thranduil a ‘Don't push it, tithen gwador,’ look, as if Linwe suspected that what Thranduil had wanted to say was 'Thank you, Nana,' but had thought better of it. 

The next time Thranduil saw Theli after the incident with the bickering spies, except for sword lessons, was at the healer’s tents. Thranduil had gotten the go-ahead from Elrond’s officers and his own father and General Rochendil for his plan of having Imladris’ catapults fling loads of the thorny, stinging marsh plants similar to nettles over the ground where the enemy ranks were about to charge. The Southrons really did seem to have run out of leather to replace the bottoms of their boots, and if the nettles disturbed their ranks at all, then the effort would be worthwhile. 

Collecting the smelly, thorny, mildly poisonous plants from the marsh was an unpleasant task. Thranduil had insisted on helping with it, and had, one night, forgotten when he was done with his task not to pull off the second sap-stained glove with his bare hand. Of course, the sap on the glove’s surface had been enough to cause Thranduil’s left hand to break out in stinging blisters. The prince was very frustrated with himself for being that foolish. He’d been preoccupied by other matters, but that wasn’t really an excuse. 

His gwedyr took him to the healing tents. Nestorion was asleep and didn’t need to be woken for something as routine as exposure to what the Greenwood elves were calling the ‘Mordor nettles.’ Especially since one of the junior royal healers, Galadaelinethuil, who always went by the short-name ‘Galad,’ was present on-duty in the main Healer’s tent. 

Healer Galad shook his head at his Prince, "So you were collecting these stinging nettles because...?"

Linwe tiredly offered, "Because he was tired and wasn’t watching what he was doing." Linwe was normally more circumspect of Thranduil’s dignity in public, but this late at night in the healing tent, the only elves present were the Prince, the Prince's gwedyr, the junior royal healer Galad, and Theli, who'd also been on duty.

Thranduil sniffed indignantly and looked away, not dignifying that with a reply. He had a good plan for the stinging nettles, multiple senior officers had told him so. He'd just forgotten that he oughtn't touch the surface of the gloves with his hands after collecting them. He also didn’t want compound that error by telling Galad the details of what was a secret plan not widely known outside of the commanders’ and officers’ ranks. 

Theli, holding unguents and bandages for Thranduil at Galad's side, and mostly being ignored by Galad, explained, "Because Thranduil needed the nettles to give to the catapult elves, so that they can shoot them over the battlefield near the Enemy lines with their ranging shots. All of the soldiers on our side have shoes, Elendil and Ereinion and Aran Oropher have seen to that. But the Southron infantry are mostly barefoot at this point, and some of the orcs are as well. The nettles should slow them down, at least some. I think it's a clever plan Thranduil, and I've gotten myself stung or stained or bled touching my gloves after harvesting ingredients too. It just happens sometimes. Like if you're making an omelette, sometimes you get bits of egg shell places you didn't mean to."

Galad as well as Thranduil’s gwedyr stared at Theli. Linwe, Veasen, and Fileg were well aware that no one should have explained to the apprentice why Thranduil and his friends had been collecting nettles. It had been Thranduil's idea, and no one else had thought it made sense at first. Rochendil and Elrond had told some soldiers who had been in trouble for various infractions to help Thranduil with the project anyway, since some of Thranduil's crazy ideas worked, and why not try. 

Thranduil offered Theli a tired, pained smile, and decided to needle his gwedyr, Linwe in particular who had been critical of the plan by saying, "See? Theli gets it. It seemed obvious to me, too, which must mean that it’s the REST of you who are lacking in creativity."

Theli grinned, and remarked "I knew what had happened as soon as I saw the nettle stings. I don't know what's wrong with Galad, that he had to ask." Then Theli agreed ducked out of Galad’s reach as the older healer glared at him.

"A completely avoidable injury that 'just happens sometimes.' I don't believe you, Apprentice Ecthelion,” Galad lectured the younger apprentice healer harshly, “And your casual attitude towards mayhem and self-induced patient injury is appalling in a prospective healer." Despite Galad’s sharp tone, his hands expertly bandaging Thranduil’s injury were still gentle and caring. 

Theli made a face at at Galad, even though his hands holding the bowl of unguent stayed steady, "It was nettle-induced, not self-induced, Healer Galad, “Well, nettle and then glove induced . . ." Theli paused, as if trying to figure out the proper way to describe how Thranduil had gotten hurt.

Thranduil flexed his salved and bandaged hand, "It feels much better. Thanks, Galad." As Galad was close to Thranduil’s own age, Thranduil had a more equal relationship with him than he did with Nestorion, who was like another uncle to Thranduil, and whom Thranduil respected as such. 

As Thranduil and his gwedyr got up to leave, Galad gave Theli a pensive look. Theli, cleaning up the healing supplies that Galad had been using to care for Thranduil’s injury, didn't seem to notice. 

Thranduil paused and told his gwedyr, “You can go on ahead. I’ll catch up.” 

“We’ll wait for you outside the tent, and you won’t go anywhere other than here without us,” Linwe countered sternly. 

“Yes . . . Lin,” said Thranduil with a mischievous smile, as he’d again been considering saying “mother” instead of “Linwe.” 

Linwe rolled his eyes but went to wait outside the tent. Galad sent Theli on an errand, then turned to raise an eyebrow at Thranduil in question. The two young elves had in common an almost meteoric rise in their respective fields, and had commiserated before on the downsides of being amongst the youngest of military officers and full healers, respectively. 

“Why did you snap at Theli?” Thranduil asked at last, “What he said wasn’t that bad.” 

Galad rolled his eyes and sighed, “No it wasn’t, I suppose. But he makes me crazy sometimes. He’s well-intentioned and learns quickly, but he’s constantly asking ‘Why?’” and ‘Why this way, why not that way?’ and “What do you do then, well what if this?’” 

“That still doesn’t sound so bad,” Thranduil noted. 

“If it was only every once and a while, maybe not, but if we’re not in the middle of a battle-rush, it’s almost constant,” Galad explained, “We Greenwood healers use methods and formulations that work for us and have for centuries, and he’s always saying things like, ‘My people did this because they didn’t have access to some supply we’re short of, and it worked well enough when the wound isn’t as grave, and if we’re running out of that, why not use this?’ or he’s going on about, “The Sea elves do this, the Men do this. Or the dwarves do this.’” 

Galad continued in a harassed tone of voice, “I know that Theli dogs poor Lord Elrond’s footsteps like an overenthusiastic puppy, so that explains why he knows what the Mannish healers do, but how does he even know what dwarves do, they’re so clannish? And Nestorion has no end of patience with him, he seems to find Theli’s overwhelming enthusiasm appealing for some reason. And most of the other healers treat him like a cross between a little brother and a mascot. It’s irritating. And it is miserable sharing the on-call tent with him. His nightmares keep us all up at night sometimes.” 

“That’s hardly his fault, Galad,” Thranduil pointed out, though he could understand the other healer’s point on most of the other things that he’d complained about. Thranduil had asked some similar questions of older warriors in his time, but Thranduil had at least had the grace to ask their permission before doing so. It wouldn’t occur to Thranduil until much later that he’d been trained in recognizing the proper time and place to ask questions rather than follow orders, and that nobody had ever bothered to try to teach Theli how to do so until Nestorion during the War. 

Galad seemed a little ashamed of complaining about losing sleep due to the apprentice healer’s nightmares, as he conceded, “No, that particular annoying habit isn’t something that Theli can control. But it doesn’t make it any easier to put up with, either. We need our sleep, too.” 

“Has anyone suggested that Theli see a mind healer?” Thranduil asked, feeling somewhat sorry, not for the first time, about Theli’s trouble sleeping. 

“Master Nestorion made him see one, for a time,” Galad answered, “Theli didn’t like going and he stopped as soon as he could. 

Thranduil, who had done much the same himself except when the mind-healer was Elrond, merely nodded to that. 

Galad offered his prince a half-smile, “I suppose that I also wonder at Eru’s sense of humor, giving any kind of a healer the kind of mind that immediately hears about one of your crazy stunts, and doesn’t even have to ask why you were up to whatever it was you were up to. And maybe that’s a good thing, for me at least, in that it implies that Theli is wasted as a healer, and might go into warrior training whenever we get back to the Greenwood. Then I’ll only have to put up with him when I get seconded to the military healers and the idiot gets himself injured, so, maybe just once every couple of weeks.” 

“Oh thank you, Galad,” Thranduil said dryly, “And do write in your report for Master Nestorion tomorrow morning that I give him my regards.” 

“You know I can’t not report to Nestorion that you were in here for treatment and why,” Galad replied tolerantly. 

“I know. But I can ask you to add that, can’t I?” 

“I’ll give him your regards, Thranduil. Do us a favor and make his job, and mine, and even Theli’s easier by taking it easy for a few days, will you?” 

“I’ll do my best,” Thranduil promised, then left with his gwedyr to seek some rest. 

And Thranduil did do his best. A lull in the fighting meant that he waited for his hand to be fully healed before he went back to his normal duties. It also meant that he had time for giving Theli swordsmanship lessons again. During one of those lessons, Thranduil noticed that Master Nestorion had arrived, and was watching them intently. Thranduil didn’t think that Theli had noticed him at all until they took a break and Nestorion offered them both some water. 

“Hi, Master Nestorion!” Theli greeted his sometimes-mentor cheerfully, and with a hint of apology, as if maybe he realized how much Nestorion hated seeing him pursue a soldier’s trade rather than a healer’s. 

“Did you see me not let go of my sword when Thranduil did that disarming from a crescent drill trick? It’s the first time I’ve managed not to drop it or fall down!” Theli explained enthusiastically. 

“And after only seven times I tried to teach it to you, too,” Thranduil praised wryly, but with some true encouragement. Thranduil himself had only fallen for the gimmick once. But he’d known trainee soldiers who’d later turned into skilled swordsmen who had taken a dozen repetitions to avoid that disarm. 

“Yes, I saw Theli,” Nestorion said with weary affection, “It seems that you have been working hard. I’m proud of you for that, although I am somewhat concerned that you have been shorting yourself on sleep again.” 

Theli responded to that with a disgusted face, then, at Master Nestorion’s clear disapproval, adopted a repentant expression instead and replied, “I’m sorry, it’s just hard to sleep here. No matter how late at night, it’s always so loud. It’s a little quieter at night, but I get the night shifts at the Healer’s tents a lot.” 

“I’ll take a look at the schedule and see what I can do about that,” Nestorion promised. Thranduil knew his primary healer well enough to read into that statement that Nestorion would certainly make sure that Theli was scheduled fewer night shifts in the future. 

“No, please don’t,” Theli beseeched, “I’m not complaining, Master Nestorion, really. I don’t mind, I don’t need that much sleep.” 

“You’ll do as you’re told, nestor dithen nin,” Nestorion told Theli sternly. 

Theli sighed, and then said in a dubious, resigned tone of voice, “Yes, Master Nestorion. If you say so.” 

“He just did say so,” Thranduil pointed out, a little amused by the exchange. 

Nestorion turned his concerned regard to his prince, “And this is not taking you away from your sleep, Thranduil? This training of my apprentice?” 

Thranduil didn’t bother to note that Theli was technically Master Bregalen’s apprentice. Instead he just said patiently, “There’s a lot of downtime at war, Nesta. When the enemy is trying our lines or we’re making a play to advance, I don’t have time. But right now I do.” 

“I see,” recognized Nestorion, with a sigh of his own, “Well, as long as it is not interfering with either of your rest or other duties, I suppose that I am proud of you both for sharing your skills. Theli is teaching you the dialect of Nandorin spoken in the North, I understand, Thranduil?” 

Thranduil, who didn’t want to explain that Theli had mostly been teaching him the colorful words, answered truthfully if incompletely, “Yes. It’s the same language my friend Adan, from Meordanas, spoke. He died in the first offensive, last fall.” 

“I am sorry for that,” Nestorion replied gently, “I remember your mentioning this Adan as an older soldier who did his best to make sure that you saw the Army healer in Meordanas. I am sure that he was a good elf.” 

“One of the best,” Thranduil confirmed, through a lump in his throat, “Adan didn’t change how he treated me, even after he knew that I am Prince Thranduil,” Thranduil gave Theli a bemused, fond glance, and added, “Just like certain other elves of my more recent acquaintance.” 

Theli shrugged in a mannish fashion, and explained his lack of awe at Thranduil’s royal status by saying, “’Prince’ is just an idea in people’s heads, that for you means that you have to do a lot of extra work without complaining about it. I thank you for it, but it doesn’t make you a different elf. Just one who has to do more and deserves some respect for it.” 

Nestorion raised an eyebrow, but at seeing that Thranduil was amused rather than insulted, let the matter go with a mild, “Do please remember to address Thranduil as ‘your highness’ or at least lieutenant when there are elves you don’t know around, Theli.” 

“He does seem to try,” Thranduil recognized wryly, because, for whatever good that did, and it wasn’t much, Theli did seem as if he were trying his best at that. 

“I appreciate that,” said Nestorion, in the tone of voice of an elf who fully appreciated just how much Theli struggled with remembering who held what title and remembering to use those titles, “And I will leave the two of you to your sword lessons, provided that Ecthelion does not do anything so foolish as to go off and play soldier again. This is your last warning on that count, elfling,” Nestorion ended in a very strict, almost forbidding, manner. 

Theli frowned, “But you’ve never specifically warned me about that before, Master. You just said ‘not to do that’ for the first time. How can it be my last warning if it’s also my first? Am I understanding those two Sindarin words wrong? “ 

“Theli . . .” Nestorion warned. 

“It’s not that I have any plans to do that again,” Theli hurried to assure Nestorion, “I know much too little about combat as it’s done on a battlefield to be of proper use in the fighting the way Greenwood does it, I know that now. But I might get better before the end of the war.” 

Thranduil looked at Theli in disbelief. He understood that Theli might think so, wrongly, but to say so in front of Thranduil, let alone Nestorion, was almost suicidally stupid. 

“Ecthelion,” Nestorion ordered sternly, “Come with me. We need to have another talk.” 

Theli frowned, almost pouting, and contradicted, “No, we don’t. It’s well, I understand, last warning even though it’s the first. I’ll try not to.” 

“Now, Apprentice Healer Ecthelion!” Nestorion commanded in such a deadly serious manner that it had Thranduil wincing in memory of the last time Nestorion had been so angry with him. It had been in response to Thranduil going back to his normal activities too soon after an injury, and after Nestorion had warned him against it. The prince had received a truly memorable lecture on that occasion. With that memory in mind, Thranduil didn’t feel at all jealous of Nestorion’s interest in Theli in this exact moment. In fact, he felt some measure of pity for the loud and tedious sermon that he expected Theli had just talked himself into. 

Theli, still pouting, gave Nestorion a reluctant look, “But Thranduil barely ever has time to teach me, and he’s one of the best who will!” 

“One of?” queried the curious Thranduil, despite the risk that he was about to get his sometimes-pupil into even more trouble. 

“Prince Imrazor isn’t so bad, or Guard Thenithol from Imaldris, or Captain Etsir of Gondor. And Captain Samnolas, the Sea elf warrior, he’s really good, too. And my cousin Emlyn is a really patient teacher, I’ve learned a lot from him.” 

Thranduil was merely nodding, as he’d had some idea of how broadly Theli wandered amongst the various camps. Having so many teachers explained the young healer’s very varied and at times creative techniques. 

Nestorion’s eyes widened as he demanded, “And when have you been going to these places?!?” 

“In my free time, or while looking for supplies for Quartermaster Luthavar,” Theli explained helpfully, although his tone turned rapidly to that of a young elf challenging a punishment as he protested to Nestorion, “You said that I could!” 

“I certainly didn’t think that you’d be doing it alone, or asking strange humans or legendary heroes for sword lessons!” Nestorion snapped, “Come with me, now, elfling. We have a lot to talk about, the two of us. And if you drag your feet any longer, that discussion will begin here. It’s not my preference, but my patience is near an end.” 

Thranduil nudged Theli’s shoulder, “You’d better get moving, tithen mellon nin. I don’t think he’s kidding.” 

Theli sighed and went over to follow Master Nestorion, complaining apologetically as he went, “But I didn’t know that I was doing anything wrong! I thought I was helping! I just want to help.” 

Master Nestorion softened slightly as he put an arm around the younger elf’s shoulder, “Yes, nestor dithen nin, I know. But you are not helping when you wander about by yourself. That’s dangerous, and you’re not to do it anymore.” 

“Yes, Master Nestorion,” Theli replied, with a put-upon sigh. Thranduil rather thought that Nestorion would have to word whatever restrictions he wanted to put on Theli’s actions very carefully, as the young healer was good at worming his way around instructions, even instructions from elves Theli respected as much as he clearly respected Nestorion.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 3: The beginning of this chapter references events in “Reticence and Consideration,” which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/829632
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs

Theli respected Thranduil, too. That didn’t stop him from forgetting that he was supposed to be in the middle of a sword lesson and dropping to his knees to examine Thranduil’s wounded knee. Thranduil just barely pulled a killing blow. They were fighting with blunted practice blades, so it might not have actually killed Theli, but it certainly would have injured him severely. Theli was far enough along in his studies that Thranduil didn’t expect mistakes anywhere near so stupid from him. 

And, almost as upsetting, was that Theli snitched on another injury of Thranduil’s to Thranduil’s gwedyr yet again. That was mostly because Linwe, Fileg, and Veassen were right there watching, but still. Theli’s interference meant another lecture from Nestorion, and later, when Thranduil was healed, lectures from Oropher and Linwe, as well. 

Thranduil was upset with Theli about the incident, but only greatly so for a few hours. Spending time with his gwedyr, which he only had time for because he was injured and on restricted duties, distracted him a bit from being mad. At least until Fileg unaccountably took it upon himself to advocate to Thranduil on Theli’s behalf. 

“If you're going to stop giving the elfling healer lessons, don't do it because of this, cousin-mine,” Fileg appealed. 

“What?” asked Thranduil, who had not expected this from Fileg. 

“I'm not saying don't stop giving him sword lessons,” Fileg clarified in a friendly manner, “It's up to you to whether teach him at all, of course. I just don't want you to say that it's because of this, because he ended up revealing that you got hurt, that is the reason you are going to stop teaching him. Just say that you're too busy instead. Because you are, you know. But this wasn't his fault.” 

“And yet, none of this is your business,” Thranduil told Fileg, his sapphire eyes narrowed in irritation. 

“He was just doing his job, Thranduil,” Fileg persisted. 

Oropher, who had entered with Nestorion at just that inopportune moment, asked, “Who was just doing his job, ion-nin?" 

“My friend Theli,” Thranduil reluctantly explained, “the apprentice healer I’m giving swordsmanship lessons to. He noticed that I was injured, and then Linwe made me go see Nestorion.” 

“Well, at least Linwe shows some sense,” Oropher said, after sighing at his only child’s disturbing habit of hiding injuries. 

“Pardon me, Oropher,” Nestorion interrupted, before turning to his prince, “Thranduil, what were you doing, when Theli noticed that you had strained your knee?” 

Thranduil, despite his annoyance with his young friend, hesitated to tell Nestorion about Theli’s almost having gotten himself killed. Nestorion was disapproving enough of Theli’s learning weapons skills as it was. 

Fileg, who seemed to feel no such reticence, cheerfully reported, “Nesta, your apprentice seems a promising healer, but he’s really not cut out to be a soldier. Or at least, he’s much more a healer. He noticed Thranduil favoring his knee in the middle of a practice bout, and then dropped to his own knees to get a closer look at Thranduil’s injury, thereby making it so that Thranduil had to employ a truly heroic effort not to cut his head off. Or at least bruise the blazes out of his neck with the practice blades they were using.” 

Nestorion paled noticeably, whether with fear or anger Thranduil was not sure. 

Thranduil was so tired. It was really upsetting to be so tired, and to still care about Theli and his sword lessons. At the time, Thranduil wondered why in Arda he even cared, but he did care. He was so tired, and he hated caring mostly because he was so tired. And also because he had no idea why he cared, but he cared. 

“Theli is getting better,” Thranduil assured the still white-faced Nestorion, “He just got distracted today. He needs more practice focusing. I'll stop training him, of course, if you order it, Ada, or you ask me to, Nesta. But if I stop, Theli will still be getting lessons from Amroth’s elves, and Elrond's and Uncle Cirdan’s, and some of Elendil's and Prince Imrazor's folk, as well.” And that was just the tutors Theli had found which Thranduil knew of. “And,” Thranduil added, “I don't know whether all of Theli’s other teachers would be skilled enough to pull a blow when Theli decides he's a healer instead of a student swordsman in the middle of a bout, so I think it might be best if I continue to have a hand in his training, when I have the time.” 

Nestorion was silent at first. Thranduil’s father Oropher looked a little as if he didn't understand why Nestorion couldn't control one of the most junior members of the healers’ staff, but was too polite to say so. At least in front of his son and his son’s young friends. 

Rather to Thranduil’s surprise, it was Linwe who spoke up next, “I didn't see Thranduil favoring his knee, Nestorion.” 

Nestorion sighed, “And that is why Master Healer Bregalen insisted upon bringing Ecthelion here. Ecthelion sometimes sees things that fully trained healers miss,” Nestorion narrowed his shadow-blue eyes in frustration and perhaps also worry, “Which Ecthelion will not be able to do in the future, if he gets his head chopped off because he's not paying attention whilst playing soldier. I will ensure that Ecthelion's attention is focused . . . elsewhere, and that he’s too busy to get into trouble. At least for the foreseeable future.” 

Thranduil gave that two weeks, and maybe less. Theli had more energy than a chipmunk. Normally he had a mayfly's attention span, but if he found something he was determined to do, he wouldn't stop trying. And in the meantime, he'd be interested in a dozen dozens of other things, such that it would be easy for Nestorion – and everyone else - to forget that Theli was still fixated on becoming a soldier to help fight in this war. Thranduil didn’t think that Theli would succeed at that. In fact, Thranduil would personally do his best to keep the inexperienced healer out of the actual fighting. But Theli might make a decent soldier someday. Yet again, Thranduil wondered why he cared, but for better or worse, he did care. 

But so it was that a period of time went by without Theli asking for any sword lesson from Thranduil. He still appeared every so often during the rare times when Thranduil was at liberty, once with a story about Imrazor that had made Thranduil laugh until he was breathless, and once with a sack of honey candies to share. 

Theli also came to find Thranduil during a ‘family’ dinner at Oropher’s command tent. Guard Lieutenant Ephedir, having learned from his last experience with Theli trying to join gatherings he’d not been invited to, sent one of the guards to ask Thranduil if he should let Theli in. 

“Yes, I’ll see him,” Thranduil had answered, avoiding his father’s and uncles’ curious and disapproving looks. 

“Thranduil, this really isn’t the time for a social visit from a casual acquaintance,” Thranduil’s Uncle Vehiron had reproved him mildly. 

“It might be important,” Thranduil disagreed, and rather hoped that it would be. The only other time Theli had come to the command tent and demanded entry, it had been important. Theli’s interference had possibly even saved Imrazor’s life that night, because that one double agent hadn’t been the only one Imrazor’s report had flushed out that evening. 

Theli’s footsteps beside Lieutenant Ephedir’s were even quicker than usual. 

“Thranduil,” he burst out in a rush, not unusually forgetting to use the prince’s title, “I have that itchy-in-my-head feeling again, worse than usual it almost HURTS, and it feels worst around the area between our lines and the Lothlorien lines!” 

Thranduil turned to his father and reported with some urgency, “Cousin Elrond told Theli to come to me, or to him, if he had a premonition of the Enemy trying the lines again.” 

“And you feel that this . . . intelligence . . . is worth investigating, ion-nin?” Oropher asked. 

“I do, Ada,” Thranduil affirmed, despite the doubtful murmurs around them. 

“We will proceed as if this is good intelligence, then,” Oropher ordered. 

Thranduil’s kinsmen and his father’s officers began to arm and make the necessary arrangements to prepare for repelling an attack on their lines. Messengers were sent to Celeborn and Amroth of Lothlorien warning them to do likewise. 

Thranduil was holding still so that his father could check the laces of his armor when the prince noticed that Theli, overlooked in the hubbub, seemed as if he was planning to come with them. 

Leaning over his father’s shoulder, Thranduil snapped at the apprentice healer, “Where do you think that you’re going?” 

“To fight,” Theli answered, clearly startled, “I mean, I usually get to, with this type of thing, because I’m there when it happens.” 

“Usually?” Oropher echoed inquiringly, in between testing the ties of his son’s armor. 

“Not this time,” Thranduil told his young friend, with adamantine certainty. 

“But I want to help!” Theli protested 

“You did help,” Thranduil told him, as he returned the favor and checked over his father’s armor, “Now help again by staying out of our way. And by going to find Nestorion,” with a grimace, Thranduil commanded, “Tell him and Master Telfindir that you’re likely to be busy later.” 

“I will,” Theli promised, with a firm nod.

Thranduil nodded back as he strapped on his sword. 

“Thranduil?” Theli added, his midnight blue eyes bright with concern, “Be careful!” 

The prince nodded his agreement to that, even as he marveled that he most often was careful, and wondered why it was that everyone said so to him? 

Theli sketched his hands in the air, a gesture that Thranduil could vaguely remember Adan making over the heads of his protegee Finn and Thranduil before they went after a band of bandits. As he moved his hands, the short healer murmured something in Nandorin. A blessing? Likely so, because just as Theli finished speaking, Thranduil felt as if a light cloak had settled around his shoulders. It barely made a ripple in the blessings already layered over the armor of a King’s and a prophetess’s son, but . . . it was there. Like water, it flowed into whatever small chinks might have been left, and filled them. 

Thranduil nodded his thanks again, then ordered, “Now go.” 

“Does your young friend train with the priests as well as the healers, ion-nin?” Oropher asked as they left the command tent. 

“Not that I know of, but he goes everywhere. He’s a very sociable elf,” Thranduil explained. 

“If they’re trying the lines again like he thinks, then he probably should,” Oropher commented thoughtfully. If Oropher had lived longer, Thranduil later thought they would have learned the truth of Theli’s and Emlyn’s ancestry and kinship much earlier. But that was not to be. 

The Enemy did try the lines again that night. Thanks to Theli, they were forewarned. The morning brought another attack, and the next day yet another. Tempers were short, and fights broke out even between those who were normally friends. 

It was agreed amongst the Allied monarchs and commanders that some counter-offensive was necessary. But what form exactly it should take and who should lead it were matters not as easily answered. 

At the end of that week, during the Allied Kingdoms’ counter-offensive, King Oropher of the Greenwood ordered his elves forward upon what he thought was the signal from Gil-galad’s nearer general. 

General Rochendil was about to give the same order, but Thranduil stopped him. 

“Hold! Lindon’s not in position to support the attack,” Thranduil had shouted to Rochendil, after turning over command of his elves to Junior Officer Manadhon. 

Rochendil saw what Thranduil had seen, and held his fist high in the air to halt his command. 

Thranduil watched his father die that day. He would wonder, for the rest of his life, whether they might have saved his father’s life if they had charged to his support. But Thranduil had made the decision that he knew his father would have wanted; he’d preserved the lives of Oropher’s elves to fight again another day. There would have been no sense all of them dying, and none of the other kingdoms’ armies had been in position in sufficient numbers to support the Greenwood’s second force, had Thranduil not countermanded his father’s order.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior Greenwood based stories in my “Desperate Hours Gen AU,” available here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “Yet there be certain times in a young man’s life, when, through great sorrow or sin, all the boy in him is burnt and seared away so that he passes at one step to the more sorrowful state of manhood.” - Rudyard Kipling
> 
> “There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.” – Jane Austen

Thranduil relived the moment of his father’s fateful charge in his nightmares every almost single night until well after the end of the war. In the immediate aftermath of the battle during which Oropher died, there was too much to do for Thranduil to really mourn. General Rochendil helped Thranduil to take and maintain control of Greenwood’s army, despite the prince’s relative youth and lack of experience. That Thranduil would inherit his father’s kingdom went without saying; that he should personally command its army had not. 

Elrond and Glorfindel spent much of their time with Thranduil, having gained Aran Ereinion’s permission to leave the command of Imladris’ forces to Erestor and to Glorfindel’s second, Lieutenant Caradhon. 

“You are living through something which I have always feared, Thranduil muin dithen nin,” Elrond comforted, “the loss of my brother, and my needing to take up his mantle. I will be here for you, I promise you that. Any aid that I can give you, my dear cousin, you will have.” 

“I . . . Ada was my compass, Elrond,” Thranduil confessed in an agonized whisper. 

“I know,” Elrond comforted, his hand a reassuring pressure on Thranduil’s shoulder. 

“How do I . . . go on?” Thranduil asked, utterly overwhelmed, “Let alone do what I must do.” 

“One day at a time,” Elrond answered, with a gentle squeeze to Thranduil’s shoulder, “One hour at a time, if you must.” 

Some members of Oropher’s council questioned whether Thranduil should go back to the Greenwood, after his father’s death. One of the reasons that Thranduil relied so much upon Elrond in the days and weeks which followed Oropher’s death was that Elrond never asked him that question. Elrond had known better than to ask. So had Rochendil and Glorfindel. And Thranduil’s Uncle Vehiron would have known better too, if he hadn’t been so badly injured when he asked. Vehiron had nearly died beside Oropher. 

“I know that you had to ask,” Thranduil told his uncle, “But you already knew the answer. Please do me one kindness, and do not ask again.” 

“Very well, our elfling,” Rochendil promised, on behalf of the wounded Vehiron and Master Nestorion, as well as himself, “We will all stay here. You will not be alone, ever. We will look after you, and you may always rely on us, even as you must lead us all. I promise.” 

And Rochendil kept that promise. During one war council meeting, Thranduil ran rough-shod over his own captains to get them to agree that Ereinion Gil-galad Lindon would assume overall strategic leadership of the entire Allied Kingdoms’ armies. Rochendil quietly supported him, and called out any senior officer who spat in Thranduil’s face and named him traitor. 

Afterward, Thranduil retreated to Greenwood’s command tent. Elrond and Glorfindel and his kinsmen stayed with him. When Rochendil returned, Thranduil couldn’t help but pour out the bitter exhaustion of the last weeks and the morning’s meetings. 

“They have more elves, more weapons, and greater and more recent battle field experience,” Thranduil complained to Rochendil with tired intensity, “If we don’t all agree to follow Ereinion’s commands in coordinated actions, then we’re going to lose the half of our army that we have left. Yes, Lindon’s army must allow us greater input and be willing to adjust their plans to take into account our training and force mix. But we need to have a leader, Rochendil. And even before Ada died and we lost half our army, that natural leader was Ereinion.” 

“I know, Thranduil. But it has been difficult for many to accept,” Rochendil counseled with calm sympathy, “And the soldiers of Lindon have not made themselves popular in many quarters.” 

“It doesn’t matter that we don’t like them, ‘Chendil,” Thranduil argued, drained but determined, “It doesn’t matter that we have reason for disliking them. It doesn’t even matter whether we can trust them, except that we can trust them to hold their positions on the battle field when they’ve said that they will. And in that, at least, they’ve proven trustworthy.” 

“I know, my elfling. And I’m sorry that it has had to be you who has had to make these decisions. I promise you that I will support you in this, and in everything else that you must do,” Rochendil swore, his gaze as it rested on his new grieving young King both loving and sorrowful. 

Thranduil put his head in his hands and sighed, his long golden hair and warrior’s braids falling around his face in a curtain as he fought tears. 

“Why did he do it, ‘Chendil? Why did Ada order the line to advance?” Thranduil asked. 

“There was a miscommunication, Thranduil,” Rochendil reminded his beloved young King with infinite gentleness, “It happens, in battle.” 

“But I . . . I realized that there was a problem, that there wasn’t support to move forward,” Thranduil gasped around tears, “Why didn’t Ada? 

“Thranduil, my elfling,” Rochendil began tenderly, only to be interrupted by Glorfindel. 

“Because you are a better strategist than your father was, lad,” the Balrog Slayer said loudly, although not without compassion. 

Thranduil looked up, tears streaming down his face, “How DARE you say that? To me? Now?!” 

“Because it is true, my dear student,” Glorfindel said with weary affection and stubborn determination, “And because there is no time, no space here, for anything but the truth. The Enemy seeks to divide us. Do not let him succeed again. For your sake, for your people’s sake. For my sake, for you are my student and I love you and I do not want you to die, or fade. Accept that truth, Thranduil.” 

“Honor your father for his strengths,” Glorfindel continued, “He was a loving husband and father. A far better father to you than I was to my son, to my shame. Your father was also an excellent administrator and a brilliant peace-time King. He was a highly skilled warrior, an inspiring commander, and a good strategist. You’re a better one – both commander and strategist. You have it in you to be great, a great war leader.” 

“Do what your father would want, Thranduil,” Glorfindel vigorously urged, “Be who you are. Honor your father’s spirit, but do not let his shade rule here. That is your role, your right, and our honor.” 

His tears drying but his temper flaring as he thought of an earlier conversation with the great Balrog Slayer, Thranduils waspishly snapped back, “And are you also saying this to me because once someone did so for your son? Arandil, whom you’ve seen to it is safe in Lindon, against his own will?” 

Taking no apparent offense to that, Glorfindel determinedly replied, “No, I’m saying this to you because I care about you, Thranduil. I’m saying this to you because I care about Elrond living, and Erestor, and Arandil, and you being who you are, unshackled by grief and blame, is the best way to keep them safe.” 

Glorfindel took a deep breath, and then said in the tone of an elf who had just torn out his own heart, “And I’m saying this to you because no one ever said it to Arandil. No one ever told my son that it wasn’t his fault when Turgon died, when I died. No one ever told him that it wasn’t his fault, that he did everything he could, when Sirion fell. No one was there to tell him, and what Glorendil – Arandil - saw as his failings broke him. He let it break him. And nothing I’ve ever been able to say or do for him has healed that fracture.” 

Tears flowing down his own cheeks, the Balrog Slayer shared, “Glorendil - before he put down his sword and became Arandil - was one of the best I’ve ever seen – warrior, swordsman, strategist, tactician. And so are you, Thranduil.” 

“And yet now,” Glorfindel continued, “even when Arandil agrees to carry a sword, he does so only to protect his fellows, the soldiers he is next to and around. Glorendil, my son, let his father’s death deprive Middle Earth of one of its best commanders, when his active presence in the War of Wrath, the last war, and this war too, curse it, could have made a difference. I’m telling this to you, now, Thranduil, because your father’s death wasn’t your fault. Because I want you to accept that. Because I want you to live up to your full potential. Don’t make me watch another one of my greatest students let himself be broken by guilt.” 

Too debilitated by grief and the toll of new responsibilities to truly appreciate the depth of the compliment that one of his most demanding tutors had paid him, Thranduil could only manage, “I’m . . . I’m tired,” even as he thought back to learning strategy from Arandil during one memorable spring, and how Glorfindel’s son had turned certain defeat into victory without losing a single life. Of course, Arandil had done most of that without weapons, and there was no way that Thranduil could negotiate with Sauron the way that Arandil had with those pirates. But even so, if Glorfindel truly thought that Thranduil could be such a boon to the Allied Kingdoms . . . than Thranduil had to keep trying, no matter how hard it was. 

“There is a little time for sleep, Thranduil my dear student,” Glorfindel said, and his voice was as kind as Thranduil had ever heard it, even when he spoke to Erestor. 

“Glorfindel vorondonya,” Elrond broke in quietly, taking a gentle hold of his retainer’s upper arm, “I think that you’ve said enough for now. Do please go and see how Erestor is getting on with the chemists. They can be fractious at times.” 

Then Elrond turned his attention to Thranduil, “Come, cousin. I’ll help you seek your bed, and stay with you if you’d like. Or until whoever you would like to keep you company tonight can arrive.” 

It was Linwe who ended up being Thranduil’s bed-fellow for the night. Thranduil was so lost in thought, and for once it was thoughtful reflection as much as grief, that he wasn’t paying very much attention at all to what he was saying. 

“Are you ready to try to sleep again, Thranduil?” Linwe asked, his jade eyes dark with worry for his younger heart-brother and new King. 

“Mmm. . .hmm,” Thranduil answered noncommittally. 

“And would you like some toast and tea, gwador-laes? Since you ate so sparingly at dinner?” 

Thranduil could tell that Linwe was being critical of something, but couldn’t bestir himself away from his thoughts of his father dying, and him surviving. And of Glorfindel dying during the fall of Gondolin, and his son Arandil surviving. 

“Mmm . . . hmm,” Thranduil neutrally answered again, since he couldn’t bring himself to care what Linwe was talking about. 

“And, since you did not eat well at dinner, even after promising your gwedyr that you would, would you like me to pour this wine on you before you try to sleep again? Would that help remind you to eat, and sleep, and care for yourself, as we are all urging you and trying to help you to do?” Linwe asked in an annoyed tone of voice. 

“Mmm . . . hmm,” Thranduil murmured, his mind still elsewhere. 

“Thranduil,” Linwe snapped, flicking Thranduil’s ear as he spoke. 

“Ow! What is wrong with you, Linwe?!?” Thranduil replied, his own hands flying to soothe his stinging ear. 

“I asked you if you wanted me to pour wine on you to help you remember to eat and sleep. You said, ‘mmm . . . hmm,’ which I took to mean yes!” 

Thranduil punched Linwe in the shoulder. Gently. Hopefully gently enough to avoid another ear flick! 

Linwe merely rolled his eyes at the light blow, and asked, “I’ll forego giving you the dousing you asked for, if you tell me what is on your mind.” The red-haired ellon reached out to stroke his grieving new King’s golden braids, “Please tell me gwador-laes, what is it that is keeping you from sleeping?” 

Thranduil caught his dear friend’s hand and held it against his cheek, “’Tis not all sorrow, Lin. Not tonight. I still miss Ada . . .” Thranduil’s voice hitched, and he fought back tears again, “But . . . Glorfindel gave me something else to think about, tonight.” 

“Glorfindel?” Linwe asked doubtfully. 

“Aye, him,” Thranduil agreed, with a teary laugh, “As unlikely as it seems. He . . . he said some things, that made me realize . . . that if anyone knows how Ada would feel, it may be Glorfindel. Because he was a father, who died in battle. A father whose son survived, and fought in later wars. He said that he wished someone had been there to tell his son – you remember Arandil? – that it hadn’t been his fault, that Glorfindel had died. That he’d done his best. And that Glorfindel wanted him to let go of guilt, not to torment himself. That Glorfindel wanted Arandil to keep doing his best, be his best warrior, his best leader. And if that is truly what Ada would want . . . then it is, not well, but . . . acceptable, for me to lay my grief aside, at least sometimes. At least enough to keep doing my best. To be my best. Because Lord Glorfindel thinks that I can make a difference. A good difference, despite being younger and less experienced than almost everyone else.” 

“I believe that you can too, baby brother,” Linwe said, putting his arms around Thranduil and holding him tightly, “I believe in you, too.” 

And that was how Thranduil fell asleep that night. The first night, after his father’s death, that he slept through the dark hours untroubled by nightmares. 

The day that followed was a decently good day. Not a good day, but a day during which the terrible, aching pain of his father’s death did not torment Thranduil so cruelly every other moment. A day during which he was able to concentrate, even able to appreciate the pride that Elrond and Rochendil took in him, and the love of his oath-brothers and kinsmen. 

There were some decent days in the years of the War that followed. And on all but the worst days, Thranduil could think of what Glorfindel had told him, and feel the truth of it. Oropher loved Thranduil, had always loved Thranduil. He would want his son not to torture himself over not having been able to save Oropher; over holding back the army to save their elves, even though charging forward might have saved his father. 

Oropher would want Thranduil to pay attention, to do his best, to win this War, and by so doing to save his own life, and the lives of their soldiers, and the lives of his mother and his beloved Minaethiel and all of their people back in the Greenwood. Sometimes, when Thranduil had trouble remembering all of that, Captain Glorfindel’s piercing blue eyes would catch the new King’s, and forcibly remind him. And sometimes, that was enough. 

Other days had been terrible, and Thranduil did his best not to think of them. He did his best not to welcome the combat, for it always took his mind off of his own troubles. He did not glory in the death and destruction. But oh, the straightforward immediacy of ‘fight or be killed’ was kinder than the pain of Thranduil’s loss and guilt. 

On one of those days when the fight had distracted him from his angst, Thranduil took a long slash from an Easterling scimitar. Blessedly, it had not been poisoned. 

“Most Easterling blades aren’t poisoned, thank the Forest. The Easterlings believe that poisoning one’s foe is cheating,” Theli chattily informed Thranduil as he cleaned and stitched the wound. 

Thranduil’s cousin Gelinnas had been stabbed in the gut earlier in the engagement, and Luthavar had suffered a complex fracture to one of the long bones in his leg when the Enemy broke through their lines. Thranduil had ordered that no one inform Nestorion, Galad, or any of the more senior and very busy healers that their young King had suffered a slight wound. Unhappily, Captain Boronthor and Thranduil’s cousin and new guard Fileg had agreed, but only if Thranduil let another healer stitch him up. That healer had ended up being Theli. 

“Oh? And what do they believe allying with the Enemy is, then?” Thranduil replied sardonically, “Fair play?” 

Theli laughed a little, “No,” he answered, and then sobered, “Actually, they mostly think that ‘Might makes Right.’ Except they don’t like an uneven battle field. That’s why they won’t use artillery unless we start using ours first, they think it’s cheating. That the battle won’t really be decided by who is strongest, if one side is using an advantage that the other side doesn’t have.” 

“Mmm,” said Thranduil neutrally, already thinking of about half a dozen ways he could use that bit of knowledge about the Easterlings in formulating battle strategies. 

“There, Thranduil,” Theli said, finishing with the stitching of Thranduil’s wound faster than Thranduil had expected, if still slower than Nestorion or Elrond would have, “You likely know what to do. Wash carefully, dry the stitches, keep it bandaged except when you’re washing, until the stitches are ready to come out.” 

With a thoughtful frown, the young apprentice healer added, “Oh! And I have to report to Master Nestorion about your wound, and that I stitched it and bandaged it, and about which painkilling ointment I put on it, and about the instructions I gave you.” 

“Must you?” replied Thranduil, in a pained tone of voice. 

Theli nodded solemnly, “If I don’t, I’ll get extra chores for it. And I’d rather not.” 

Thranduil sighed, “I imagine not. Do your duty, then. And give Master Nestorion my regards. And my heartfelt thanks for his care of my more seriously wounded cousins.” 

“I will, Thranduil,” Theli promised, “And I’ll make sure to bring you something good to eat tonight. You need to eat and drink well, to help you make up for the blood loss.” 

Thranduil merely nodded, expecting that Theli would forget. Or, failing that, that Captain Boronthor wouldn’t let just anyone into Thranduil’s tent at night to bother him. 

But apparently, Thranduil had expected too much. Or too little? In any case, Boronthor or someone allowed Theli into Thranduil’s command tent with a bag of food and a bottle of wine. 

Thranduil flicked his eyes up, nodded at Theli, and then went back to the reports on the table before him. Fileg sat to one side of his King, reading over Thranduil’s first drafts to catch any errors. Thranduil could hear Elrond and Rochendil in the background, discussing the best way to present something-or-other that Thranduil had done to Elrond’s King, and cousin, Ereinion Gil-Galad. 

The new King of the Greenwood ignored the irritation of Theli loudly setting out earthenware plates and cups and wooden forks, and then placing cold slices of chicken breast, toasted bread, cheese wedges, and roasted and seasoned potato quarters and green beans on to the plates, and red wine into the cups. 

Thranduil continued to ignore the apprentice healer, and the food. To the young King, since his father’s death, all food tasted like ashes. His gwedyr, his officers, and Elrond and Nestorion coaxed Thranduil to eat. And eat he did, when Nestorion or Elrond demanded it. He slept when they insisted, as well, because if his healers didn’t affirm to Rochendil and his uncles that Thranduil was well enough to be about his duties, then Thranduil ended up with an unwanted and nonnegotiable day, or more, of rest. And in days of rest, there was entirely too much time for thinking, which meant regretting and dreading, and fighting against bitter guilt and bleak despair. 

So Thranduil ate enough to please Elrond and Nestorion, but no more. And sometimes he refused to eat at all, because he could. That small bit of control at least Thranduil had over his own life. His father Oropher could have ordered him to eat at any time, and Thranduil would have obeyed. But Oropher was dead, lost to Thranduil, and now he only ate enough to enable him to keep fighting (and to pacify his healers). 

At some point, Theli picked up the scrolls and ink pot that were in front of Thranduil, and moved them aside to a different part of the table. The neglected plate of chicken, bread, and vegetables he put in the place of Thranduil’s reports. Then Theli gently pried the quill out of the shocked Thranduil’s hand, and replaced it with a wooden fork. 

Thranduil stared at the young healer incredulously. 

Theli smiled at him, and then began setting out an almost precisely matching amount of food on his own plate. 

“I said, ‘thank you,’ Theli,” Thranduil declared, disbelieving and heading straight towards irritated. 

The healer met his King’s eyes unblinkingly, and said in a pleasant but unyielding tone of voice, “I don’t eat unless you do.” 

“Oh, for the sake of Eru! Stop being ridiculous and go away!” Thranduil snapped. 

“No, it’s a rule,” Theli replied calmly and pleasantly as he put a rare bit of butter on one of the pieces of toast, “If I bring one of my patients – which you were today – food, and he doesn’t eat, then I don’t eat, either. And I won’t go away until we’ve both eaten.” 

“You . . . you are the most aggravating elf I’ve had to deal with today! And I spent the morning with the worst of Gil-galad’s dusty crones! Go away, you brat!” Thranduil practically shouted. 

Theli remained unperturbed as he asked, “And which dusty old crones are those? From what I’ve heard King Ereinion keeps company with a bower’s worth, poor Noldy fellow.” 

“By Orome’s hounds, you pestilential youth! I’m not hungry, and I have no desire to be bothered by the likes of you and your dinner!” 

When Theli just sat at the table composedly, Thranduil swore and then took a vicious bite of his bread, chewed, and swallowed. 

Then the King growled, “There, I’ve eaten. Now GO!” 

The young apprentice took one bite of his bread, exactly the same size a bite as Thranduil had taken. Then he chewed, swallowed, and stared at the King again. 

“Theli, I swear by every tree in the forest, if you do not leave my tent and take this mess with you, I will make you regret it!” 

“The potatoes and the beans are very good,” Theli pointed out in a pleasantly informative tone, “Healer Belegur doesn’t like vegetables, and even he ate enough to make Master Gorvoreg happy.” 

Thranduil’s anger was a palpable thing. He knew that in part because someone – he thought it was Rochendil – made a movement towards breaking up the confrontation, only to be stopped by Elrond. 

“Go, Apprentice Healer Ecthelion,” Thranduil ordered fiercely, “Or is your word worth nothing to you? You swore an oath to obey me!” 

“I swore an oath to do no harm as a healer,” Theli explained serenely as he handed Thranduil the toasted bread he’d buttered, “I also swore an oath to do everything that I could for the health of my patients. You’re a patient now, as well as my good King. I’ll keep my Healer’s oaths today. I can keep the promise to obey you tomorrow. Or later today, even. If you like. Here, have a wedge of cheese, too. I scraped all of the mold off of it for you.” 

“Charming,” Thranduil sneered, “What a cook you’d make.” Even the mention of mold had put Thranduil off the cheese, but he did take his belt knife and cut up one of the slices of roast chicken. He even took a few bites. 

Theli paralleled Thranduil by eating some of his chicken, then argued contentedly, “I could be a decent cook. Cooking is a lot like making medicines.” 

That got a chuckle out of the young King, who then only half mockingly threatened, “I’ll have you scrubbing pots after this, Theli.” 

But even as Thranduil made the threat, he ate a bite of toast, and then another bite of chicken. 

Theli laughed brightly, “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been set to scrubbing pots?” 

Thranduil huffed a laugh, then ate more of the chicken. And even some of the vegetables, because he knew that his father would have wanted him to. Then, to avoid following that chain of thought any further, Thranduil commented with a wry smile, “I’m not sure I can count as high as the number of times you’ve likely been set to scrubbing pots. In just the last year.” 

“Me, either,” said Theli, with a self-conscious grin of his own. 

Thranduil finished another bite of chicken, then replied, “And why do I really not doubt that at all?” 

Theli gave Thranduil a shy smile, then took a bite of his own bread. Which, Thranduil noticed absently, had no butter. 

The new King kept eating in silence. At some point, he waved to Fileg to bring his stack of scrolls close enough so that Thranduil could begin reading again while he ate. Thranduil became so absorbed in supply orders that he was surprised when he finished everything on his plate. 

“Here,” said Theli, handing Thranduil an only slightly withered apple which he must have scrounged from somewhere. 

Thranduil took the apple, then glanced around the tent, counting heads. He cut the apple into six equal slices, and handed one to each elf in the tent. He’d meant to save the smallest piece for himself, but Theli snatched it from him and licked it, leaving Thranduil with no choice but to eat the largest slice. 

“You are a disgusting elfling,” Thranduil informed Theli indignantly. 

Theli rolled his eyes, then commented tolerantly, “If I hadn’t licked it, then you would have made us switch. And I get better food than you do, working in the healing tents.” 

“Congratulations on having found a truly infantile manner of getting your own way,” Thranduil replied, fighting a smile despite himself. 

“Thank you,” said Theli with a proud smile. Then he frowned, and asked, “Thranduil, what does ‘in-fan-tile’ mean?” 

“Ask Master Nestorion,” Thranduil suggested wryly. 

“I will,” Theli willingly agreed, “But do you mind if I go now? I have some chores to catch up on.” 

Theli said that as if it had been Thranduil who interrupted the healer’s schedule by making him sit down and eat. That made Thranduil smile incredulously. He shook his head, and then said, “Begone, pest!” 

Theli nodded and got up to leave with a slight smile. 

“And Theli?” Thranduil called after him, “Do be careful.” 

The younger elf tilted his head curiously, and said, “I have no idea why so many people keep telling me that!” 

“Think on it,” Thranduil suggested sardonically, albeit not without some affection, “It may come to you.” 

Theli gave Thranduil another shy smile, then left the tent. 

“That is a very strange little elf,” Fileg remarked with a bemused smile, then took a sip out of Thranduil’s wine cup. 

“Yes, he is, isn’t he,” said Thranduil. Finding himself thirsty, he took the cup back from his cousin. Then he got back to work, feeling somehow better than he had earlier that day, despite the hole in his side.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior Greenwood based stories in my “Desperate Hours Gen AU,” available here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories, but please do read all tags. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info

And Thranduil found as the War ground on that Theli had a knack about him, for convincing Thranduil that he didn’t mind eating, and didn’t mind being taken care of for a small time. 

Even after Theli left the Greenwood camp – and Thranduil’s kingdom – for a time, to serve Thranduil’s cousin Elrond, Theli still appeared from time to time with an entertaining story or some rare foodstuff to share. And Thranduil would see Theli at Elrond’s camp from time to time, working closely with Elrond as a healer, or being driven around the practice ring relentlessly by Glorfindel or one of his lieutenants. 

Thranduil didn’t approve of Elrond having offered Theli the opportunity to fight as well as heal. Even though Theli stayed in the background, guarding Imladris’ siege engines and catapults, which freed up more capable warriors to go to the front. It was still a dangerous job, and Theli was injured several times. 

Thranduil remembered encountering the young healer, pumping the bellows for one of the Greenwood’s blacksmiths with one arm in a cast from the tips of his fingers to the top of his shoulder. 

The new King had been making the rounds through his non-combatant craftsmen, thanking them for their service and hearing their concerns, when he came upon Theli. 

“What in Eru’s name are you doing, Theli?” Thranduil had observed disapprovingly. 

“Helping . . . Cuimborn with . . . his smithing,” the healer gasped, his labor leaving him nearly breathless. 

“With a broken arm?” Thranduil observed skeptically. 

“A double broken arm,” the blacksmith pointed out cheerfully, “And if you can persuade Theli to go off and do something sensible such as rest, your Majesty, you would be doing me – and him – a favor. I’ve had no luck with it. At least this way he’s where I can keep an eye on him, and working himself into exhaustion.” 

“I’m being . . . useful, Cuimborn,” Theli panted, “You should be . . . happy. And this . . . only takes . . . one arm.” 

“Right,” Thranduil said wryly, “Because moving the rest of your body vigorously has no effect on a broken limb. You’re done here, Theli mellon-nin. Or else I’ll send you back to Elrond to tell him what you’ve been up to.” 

Correctly sensing that Thranduil’s threat was in earnest, Theli nodded, and stepped away as soon as Smith Cuimborn had finished with the sword he was fixing. The smith whistled for an off-duty soldier to take Theli’s place. 

“Come along, pest,” Thranduil said, putting an arm around the sweating healer’s shoulders, “I think it’s my turn to provide dinner for you.” 

Theli fell asleep at Thranduil’s table just after eating dinner. Instead of waking him up, Thranduil just moved the healer to a spare cot and let him be. Theli was gone before Thranduil woke up the next morning, and had left a remarkably poorly written – and spelled – note of thanks.

The War eventually ended, despite Thranduil sometimes fearing that it never would. It became Thranduil’s and Amroth’s turn to help Celeborn provide what comfort they could to Elrond, following Ereinion Gil-galad’s death in the final battle. Elrond also had to contend with his almost immeasurable disappointment with his nephew Isildur, who had failed to destroy Sauron’s ring. 

“We’ll be here again, or somewhere like here,” a despondent Elrond had told Thranduil, Amroth, Celeborn, Cirdan, Imrazor, Erestor, and Glorfindel, “For something of Sauron will live on as long as that blasted ring does.” 

“We can’t go to War like this again, Elrond,” Thranduil had protested, appalled, “for there aren’t enough left of us!” 

“There may be enough of us Men, though, someday,” Imrazor pointed out. Though he was pale under his tan, the young human prince continued, “You can tell us what to do, Uncle Elrond. How to keep an eye on the Enemy returning, and how to prepare to fight him again.” 

“I can, nephew, and I will,” Elrond had agreed, lifting one hand to gently stroke Imrazor’s golden blond curls, “But for now, if you wish to be able to aid us by watching for danger as it approaches, you must go to your foster-brother Isildur, and make up with him.” 

“But I can’t possibly approve of him keeping the Ring!” Imrazor objected, “The Enemy created much lesser jewels, in Numenor. And yet they were still capable of beguiling the minds of strong men and women. I saw such baubles – rings and necklaces that felt weak indeed besides THE RING- succeed in corrupting the minds of even the most virtuous. What chance has even Isildur to stay himself, in constant proximity to THE RING?” 

“I know, my dear nephew, I know,” Elrond agreed with infinite sympathy, “But if you do not make up with him, and keep your princedom within his and Anarion’s kingdoms, then you will not know when the ring changes Isildur such that he becomes the Enemy’s servant and no longer his devoted opponent.” 

Imrazor sighed, and in that moment Thranduil pitied him mightily, “It shall be as you say, Uncle Elrond,” the human prince promised. 

Imrazor took Elrond’s hand in his and squeezed it in promise, then asked the assembled elves, “Friends and kinsmen, I ask you to keep me and mine in your prayers. For I had thought that I was finally done playing both sides of this game. But alas, now I must watch for evil-doing from my beloved elder foster-brother, whom I had thought I would never have reason to question.” 

“We will pray to the Valar that they keep you, and your Belfalas Men, safe in this, Imrazor,” Celeborn pledged on behalf of himself, Cirdan, and their younger elven kinsmen. 

The War was over, but the pain and the sorrow were not. The healers’ work continued many days after Isildur cut Sauron’s ring off of his finger and ended the War. There were many dead to bury, as well. Additionally, Thranduil was persuaded by his advisors to postpone their departure until most of the wounded were fit to be put in wagons, and until after a series of mobile units could be organized to scout ahead along the trail back to the Greenwood. 

At the end of yet another long meeting, Nestorion lingered behind. 

“I am eating and sleeping,” Thranduil began preemptively, although he managed a slight smile instead of a scowl as he did so. 

“While that is good to hear, Thranduil-nin, and yes, was to be one of my questions for you,” Nestorion assured his young King with a fond smile, “I have another question for you as well.” 

“Oh? What is it, Nesta?” 

“I would like to know what you would think,” the Master Healer began, “of Ecthelion Erynion occasionally assisting me in the royal Healer’s Ward, once we return home?” 

Thranduil sighed in relief, “Theli is still alive, then?” 

“Yes, he is,” Nestorion confirmed with a comforting smile, “And he has asked Master Bregalen if he may return to the Greenwood and continue as his apprentice. Master Bregalen, as I believe you know, Thranduil, is accustomed to wandering the forest on his own time and terms, and does not care to have an apprentice accompany him. I told Ecthelion that arrangements could likely be made for him to study under another Greenwood healer, and that I would speak to him again about the matter shortly.” 

“I have no objection to that,” Thranduil assured, “I gave Theli my word that I would have him back as my elf again if he survived the war.” Thranduil was somewhat surprised, but pleased, that Theli had chosen to leave Elrond, whom Thranduil was quite sure would have been happy to finish training the younger elf. 

“In that case,” Nestorion replied with a faint smile, “It is my intention to offer to take Ecthelion on as my own apprentice. On the conditions that he finish his studies as a healer with me, and that he promises not to pursue a warrior’s path until after he has done so.” 

“And if he’s your apprentice, he’ll be one of the healers whom my family and I see on occasion,” Thranduil connected, “Yes, that’s fine with me. I can’t imagine that . . . my mother,” Thranduil swallowed down a lump that had appeared in his throat as he realized, yet again, that home would never be the same without his father, “would object to any healer whom you have chosen, and whom I find agreeable.” 

“I think that you are correct in that,” Nestorion said with infinite sympathy, “And I am glad that my plan meets with your approval. Now, my dear Thranduil, have you anything left that must be done tonight?” 

“No, but I doubt that I can sleep yet,” Thranduil contended, “and I am sure that there is more than enough to keep me busy.” 

Nestorion reached out and cupped Thranduil’s cheek gently with one calloused hand. The Master Healer’s palm wasn’t calloused in the same way as a warrior’s, so it felt entirely different from Oropher’s hand. And Nestorion’s hand had a soothing smell, likely from the herbal remedies he brewed and used in his calling. 

As Thranduil leaned into the affection, Nestorion’s other arm came up to hold the King closer to him. 

“I will brew you something to help you sleep, Thranduil muin nin,” Nestorion decided, “And if that doesn’t work, we’ll try something stronger.” 

The young King had been prepared to argue against such measures, but the show of caring persuaded him otherwise. He had been required by circumstances to deny Nestorion’s pleas for him to rest often enough during the War. He could give in gracefully this one night.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior Greenwood based stories in my “Desperate Hours Gen AU,” available here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories, but please do read all tags. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
>  
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “We teach best what we most need to learn.” – Richard Bach

The long march home began only a few days later. Greenwood’s army marched in caravan with Arnor’s army, Imladris’ army, and Lothlorien’s army, as their route home lay in common until just before the borders of the Greenwood. They had parted company with Gondor’s army, Lindon’s army, and Mithlond’s army not long after leaving the borders of Mordor, for the path home for those armies lay along the coast. 

Rather to Thranduil’s relief, Isildur and his younger sons led Gondor’s army. Isildur delegated to his oldest son, Thranduil’s friend Elendur, the command of the returning army of Arnor. 

“I may be imagining this,” Thranduil told his cousin Amroth, “But within hours of parting from Isildur and his new . . . trophy, I felt much better.” 

“If you’re imagining it,” Amroth commented with a sigh, “then I’m imagining the same thing. Poor Imrazor.” 

“And Isildur’s sons,” Thranduil added. He and his cousin Amroth resolved to pray for them all, and to lend their support to Imrazor as the Prince of Belfalas turned spy on his own foster-brother and King, the new bearer of the One Ring. 

Thranduil managed to stay in strong command of his emotions until they marched through the Brown Lands. It was there, in that once beautiful forest of the Entwives, that Thranduil felt most keenly again the loss of his father. The Enemy had burned and destroyed the Entwives’ nurseries in an attempt to discourage the armies allied against it, and all that was left of what had once been one of Middle Earth’s loveliest places was the so-called Brown Lands. 

Making their way across the Brown Lands on the way to Mordor had been difficult, given the complete lack of game and scarcity of fresh water. On their way back home, at least, they were pre-warned and therefore adequately provisioned. But still, the oppression of the burnt-out trees and the sickened land oppressed Thranduil’s spirits. On their way to the War, his father had comforted him. But now, as King, Thranduil felt very alone. Yes, he had his friends, and uncles and heart-fathers as well. They all cared for him, but no one would ever replace Oropher in Thranduil’s heart. No one else could ever understand the loneliness and the burden of being the king and his heir. And now the heir was the King, and all alone. Despite being surrounded by elves, many of them elves who loved him, Thranduil still felt alone. 

So it was that on the evening they reached the Anduin, before they turned to march west and northward along the river toward Greenwood the following day, Thranduil demanded that he be left alone. 

“I’m just going up to the top of that bluff right there,” he told his guards with scant patience, “You will be able to see me.” 

“Barely,” Fileg pointed out, “You’ll look like naught more than a shadow to us from here, cousin. If that.” 

“Please, I . . I need some time to myself,” Thranduil said, ending in almost a whisper. 

“Very well, Aran-nin,” allowed Captain Boronthor, putting a hand on Fileg’s shoulder to still the younger ellon’s protests, “But if you don’t return before the sun goes down, I’m sending your cousin and [name of other young guard] after you.” 

“Thank you, Boronthor,” said Thranduil, unable to hide his heartfelt gratitude. 

The young king wasted no time in making good his all-too-temporary escape. The path up to the top of the bluff was slippery where the clear spring flowing down from the top of the shady hill had overflowed its boundaries. Even Thranduil, a veteran climber, found himself having to be careful in several places so as not to slip and fall. Would that have ever overexcited his minders! And made Thranduil feel quite the fool, as well, even though only Fileg would have been likely to tease him. And even him, not too much. 

Thranduil reached the top of the bluff with a grateful sigh. The view was impressive. The mighty Anduin rushed by, undercutting the rocks supporting the earth and trees of Thranduil’s temporary place of solitude, but not dangerously so. In a hundred or so years this place would become unsafe; for now, it was merely . . . quiet. Other than the sounds of the water and the wind. Just what Thranduil had been hoping for. 

But apparently, he was not the first person to think of coming here for solitude. Or so Thranduil gathered by the presence of a somewhat small, rather worn boot protruding from behind a tumble of boulders on the other side of the spring. 

The appropriate thing for Thranduil to have done at that point was to have gone back down the bluff, and come back up with a guard. Or at the very least to have waved a guard up. After all, the innocuous boot might belong to an enemy scout. Or even just an unsavory character of some more normal bent. 

But Thranduil did not want to have to call up a guard. And he felt no threat from this person, whoever it was.

Cautiously and quietly – there was no reason for foolishness, after all – the king leapt over the creek and edged around the large rocks. Because he’d been raised to be careful, and had a lot depending on him staying alive besides, Thranduil took his bow off his back and drew an arrow at the ready as he did so. 

Just before he came into sight of whoever-it-was, Thranduil heard a scrambling in the dust. 

“Too slow,” Thranduil reprimanded Theli, “I could have killed you twice over before you even got an arrow to your bow.” 

The king’s tone was disparaging, but lacked heat. Theli merely shrugged, leaning his bow and quiver back up against the shortest of the granite boulders. 

“I would have known if you had been a threat,” the younger elf protested, self-consciously wiping tears from his cheeks. 

“You can’t rely on an ability like that, Theli,” Thranduil chided, “Doing so makes you lazy. And what would happen if you ran into a foe capable of masking his presence, or you simply weren’t paying attention? You must endeavor to do better.” 

“Yes, Thranduil. I will,” the apprentice healer promised. Then he sighed, and picked up his bow. He looked to be readying to leave. 

“You can stay,” Thranduil offered generously, “You were here first.” 

Come to think of it, how had Theli gotten here, and Thranduil not seen his tracks? The King peered around his friend’s shoulder at the other path up the bluff. Then he glared at Theli. 

“Well, you’re certainly not going back down that way!” Thranduil told the apprentice healer sternly. It was too steep for walking, and the hand and foot holds were slick with moss. It was clear that Theli had slipped and almost fallen several times. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Theli protested, “The path to the little falls by Amon Lanc is nearly as slippery.” 

“Yes,” agreed the exasperated Thranduil, “But that path has a rail and a rope for guidance! Idiot!” he rebuked the younger elf again. 

“I just wanted to be alone!” Theli said sadly, looking down at his feet, “I didn’t want to take the time to go through the camp to the other side. I’ll go back that way though, so that you can be here.” 

“No, don’t,” Thranduil said, torn between frustration and concern for his friend, “Sit down. And tell me what is upsetting you.” It wasn’t as if Thranduil’s guards wouldn’t come up if an elf who wasn’t Thranduil came down the hill. And Thranduil had never seen Theli less than happy before. Except when he was actively dealing with wounded warriors, of course. 

Theli frowned and sat back down in the dust against the rock, but he didn’t speak. 

Thranduil sat down beside him, enjoying the warmth of the sun-heated earth and the rock at his back. 

After a few quiet minutes, Theli said, “It’s . . . not worth speaking of, to you. To most others, I mean. I didn’t lose a brother, or a father, or a son.” 

Thranduil stayed silent, musing on his own losses. He couldn’t take this time to grieve for his father and his kinsmen and friends like Ereinion, because he wasn’t alone. He still had no words to speak of his father, not except in front of his heart-brothers and heart-fathers and Elrond and sometimes Glorfindel. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t find some comfort for a friend. 

“Just because . . . because I lost . . . more, doesn’t make your pain into nothing, Theli. Talk. I’ll listen,” Thranduil offered, with some difficulty. 

“It’s my cousin,” Theli said at last, his tears quietly starting again, “Emlyn. He died, in the last battle. He was . . .” Theli sniffed, and then continued in a tear-roughened voice, “the only one. The only other elf in all the world who knew what it meant to have been raised by our family, in the village, and then to leave them all behind. I’m . . . . all alone now.” 

“I’m sorry,” Thranduil said, to his own surprise easily finding sympathy for Theli’s loss, “I met your cousin, the once. After that skirmish. He seemed like a very good elf. And he seemed very fond of you.” 

“He was . . . he was, both,” Theli confirmed, still crying, “And now I have to take his armor and . . . and his other belongings home to his wife and their elflings, and . . . and I have to tell them in person what happened. I already . . . already wrote them a letter, Calmarille and Ceredithlas helped me. But I owe it to Emlyn, to do this myself.” 

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Thranduil told Theli kindly, at the same time he put an arm around the smaller elf’s shoulders, “You’re Nestorion’s apprentice now. He might not have the time to go with you himself, he’ll be very busy when we get back home. All of the members of my father’s council . . . I mean my council, will be busy when we return home. But I’m sure that Nestorion will help you find someone to go with you, so that you don’t have to do it alone.” 

Theli froze momentarily at the gesture of affection. He looked up at Thranduil, deep blue eyes evaluating the seriousness of his older friend’s offer of physical comfort. 

That hesitation at first hurt Thranduil. Since he’d become King, elves treated him in an even more exalted manner than when he had been a prince. But the subsequent questioning look from Theli soothed the insult. It was true that Thranduil was hesitant to embrace other elves, outside of his family and heart-brothers. Theli wasn’t rejecting the gesture, which he proved as he relaxed against Thranduil’s arm and leaned against the king’s side. The young healer had just wanted to make sure that the offer was something that Thranduil had really wanted to extend, and not an action that pity had moved him to against his will. 

And Thranduil found that it really wasn’t, as he pulled Theli’s head down to rest against his shoulder, offering silent support as his friend cried. The king considered tendering to Theli the same words he’d been offered by some others, about time healing all wounds, and about how Emlyn would have wanted Theli to go on. But Thranduil couldn’t find it in himself to say things like that. They just didn’t fit, somehow. 

Thranduil remembered Emlyn. He remembered how Theli’s cousin had been so determined to protect the Greenwood that he’d left his family and his people to fight for Lothlorien’s army. 

After some time Thranduil finally said, “I think that Emlyn would be proud that you wrote to his family, Theli. And that you are going to meet them, and give them his armor.” 

“He . . . he wanted his oldest son Haldir . . . to have his armor and bow. For his middle son . . . Orophin to have the stone amulet Emlyn’s father carved for him, for his baby son Rumil to have his belt knife, and for his wife Carys to have the armband she gave him for her marriage gift,” Theli gasped between tears, “He told me all of that . . . right before the final battle. Awful . . . that he was right about dying. So many did, I know, and so many lost so very much more . . . but it hurts, so much, to have found him during the War, and then to have lost him. No one else will ever, ever understand what it means to be one of Elboron and Eldun’s grandsons, and to have left our people.” 

“I know . . . a little of that, or something like it,” Thranduil managed, though he strained to do so. No one else would ever know what it was to be Oropher’s son, and left to rule his kingdom alone. Well, somewhat alone, although Thranduil, unlike Theli, would have family and friends to help him. Family and friends who had known him since he was a small elfling. Theli, however, really would be alone in that way. So few left the Witch’s villages. 

“You’re not really alone, Theli muin nin,” Thranduil tried again to comfort the younger elf, “You’re Nestorion’s apprentice now. That means you’ll have him and all the other royal healers to help train you.” And Thranduil was sure that Nestorion would make sure that Theli wasn’t left on his own to grieve. 

“Yes, that’s true,” Theli agreed, brightening a little, “I’m really learning a lot from them, already. And I’ll learn even more as we gather herbs for ingredients now that we’re back in lands with growing things. But,” Theli said with another frown, although the tears had fortunately stopped, “It’s so different, having Master Nestorion as my master rather than Master Bregalen.” 

“Oh?” said Thranduil, who loved Nestorion and knew Bregalen only a little. 

“Better, in most ways, since Master Nestorion actually likes teaching me and doesn’t mind all of my questions, and Master Bregalen doesn’t really have patience for explaining things,” Theli elaborated, “But Master Nestorion has so many rules! Master Bregalen just required me to be there when he needed me, and of course to show up for my assigned shifts. He didn’t care if I took extra shifts to learn more, or help extra, or if I did work for Master Luthavar finding farmers or merchants with goods to trade in my spare time, or . . .” 

“Lord Luthavar, or Elder Luthavar,” Thranduil corrected kindly, as those were his cousin’s proper titles. 

“Elder Luthavar,” Theli repeated dutifully, “Or if I went and worked with Elrond, Healer Colleryn in Lothlorien, the Mannish healers, or the dwarven healers during my free time. Master Nestorion wants to know where I am, and doesn’t want me to work too much, even if it’s things I like doing.” 

“Yes, Master Nestorion is strange like that,” Thranduil agreed, suppressing a smile. Nestorion had been known to protest not only at how full Thranduil’s schedule was as prince, but also at how overpacked Oropher’s was as King. The new king’s smile turned bittersweet as he realized both that he’d never hear Oropher arguing with Nestorion again, yet also that Nestorion would continue to defend Thranduil’s right to free time to all comers. 

“So it’s strange and a little confusing to have to try to obey all of Master Nestorion’s rules.” Theli summarized. Then his expression became sorrowful and his breath hitched again, “Emlyn . . . liked Master Nestorion. He’d like that I’m going to be his apprentice now.” 

“That’s a good thing,” Thranduil pointed out, his arm tightening around Theli’s sturdy shoulders. 

“I just wish that I could tell him,” Theli said, blinking away tears. 

“I know,” Thranduil agreed sadly. There were so many things he wanted to tell his father! 

Theli didn’t speak again, but he didn’t move away either. He just watched the sun setting over the river. Until, that is, he fell asleep! The healer’s ash-blond head rested just a little more firmly against Thranduil’s shoulders, and his breath evened out. 

“Rude,” Thranduil observed in a whisper, suppressing an incredulous laugh, “It’s not proper manners to fall asleep on your King!” 

Theli didn’t even stir. Thranduil squirmed until his back was resting more comfortably against the boulder, and then just ignored the sleeping elf on his chest. 

Tears for his own losses came to the young King then, no less comforting for their silence. He wiped them away with his free hand before they could fall onto his tired friend. 

The sight of the sun setting over the Anduin and the green lands beyond the river was beautiful, reassuring Thranduil that there was still loveliness in the world. Oropher had taught him the names and stories of the stars that appeared one by one in the darkening sky. Thranduil repeated the old tales to himself as the sky darkened, never speaking loudly enough to wake Theli. 

The rush of the water, the sound of night birds and insects singing in the trees above, and even Theli’s calm, quiet breaths and the warmth and weight of the young healer against Thranduil as he slept soothed the new King until he moved onto the path of dreams himself. 

In his dream, his father Oropher came to sit on Thranduil’s other side. With him came another ellon. The other ellon had gray eyes exactly like Elrond’s. They shone with empathy as he laid a gentle, incorporeal hand first on Thranduil’s head, and then on Theli’s beside him. Then the dark-haired, gray-eyed figure sat down in front of Thranduil, between the new king and the old king of the Greenwood and the river. 

The stranger was well but comfortably clad in silks and velvets. Oropher was similarly dressed, in the blue and green shades he favored. He might have been ready for a rare casual day in Amon Lanc with his family. 

Oropher didn’t speak, but he did take Thranduil’s hand nearer him, and squeeze it. There was no pressure, but Thranduil’s hand tingled, as did his shoulder and his entire side beside Oropher. 

His father still didn’t say anything, but the dark haired ellon in front of him did, with a sparkle of mischief in his heather gray eyes which Thranduil had seen but rarely in Elrond’s. 

“Your father would speak to you if he could, my dear young kinsman. I promise you that. But he is new to this type of projection.” 

Thranduil looked to his father’s face, and saw a grief to match his own. But also a tremendous depth of love and pride which swept over Thranduil like a tide, warming him and bringing him to a new level of peace even in his abiding sorrow. 

“Sometimes,” the ellon in front of Thranduil said kindly, “Words aren’t really necessary. I thought that would be the case, with him and you. That was the gamble I took, bringing him here. We can’t stay long – I’m really not supposed to do this. My great-great-grandmother Melian will be quite disappointed in me for misusing her glade, my own sister, and her other handmaidens in such an illicit fashion! And for compelling both you and my young great-nephew to come here by the river to solidify the bridge on this side, as little effort as I needed to get my sister to exert upon you to do so.” 

Thranduil felt his hand tingle anew, and turned his attention back to his father. Oropher got to his knees. He bent down to kiss Thranduil’s brow, and then to touch his forehead to Thranduil’s. There the two stayed for a long moment, communing again as father and son. 

“Cousin,” the stranger called to Thranduil’s father, “It is time for us to leave. Elsewise we risk giving my dear sister a headache for a week.” 

“Wait,” Thranduil said, as Oropher kissed his brow and squeezed his hand one last time, “I’m not ready for Ada to leave! And . . . and who are you, anyway?” 

“I can’t tell you that,” the ellon said sadly, “and you won’t even be able to remember all of this. Only seeing your father in your dreams.” 

“But!” Thranduil protested, as the stranger stroked Theli’s head one last time while Oropher’s kind, sad gaze rested on Thranduil as if he was treasuring this one last glimpse of his son. 

“I’m sorry,” said the ellon, his eyes full of infinite kindness, “But I can’t risk you remembering this clearly, my dear young cousin. That would be cheating, you see. Because it could give you what you need to change your future – and his – for the better.” 

As he said that, the ellon nodded towards Theli, still asleep against Thranduil, but now with a peaceful smile on his heart-shaped face. 

“I can, however, promise the two of you that I’ll push Nallos into a pond on your behalf,” the ellon continued, his eyes glimmering mischievously again as he and Oropher gradually faded from Thranduil’s sight, “Or a fountain or a lake if a scum-covered pond isn’t available upon our reunion. If Nallos had just blasted said something during the War, everything could be different. It could have been so different, already. But Nallos still thinks that he owes a duty to my dear, deluded brother, and that kept him silent.” 

Thranduil knew that he’d met a Nallos during the War. One of Ereinion’s guards, maybe? But he couldn’t put a face to the name. And even as he wondered about it, the question was fading from his mind. Along with everything except the memory of having seen his father, healthy and happy, except for missing Thranduil just as much as Thranduil missed him. Except for the memory of having seen how proud Oropher was of Thranduil, and how he would love his son always, no matter how far apart they were and how long they would be separated for.

The next thing Thranduil was aware of was Fileg shaking his shoulder. 

“Gwador-laes, you fell asleep,” his cousin chided, “You have a perfectly good cot in your tent meant for just that purpose.” 

“Ada used to sleep there,” Thranduil protested, still not quite awake, “It’s harder, without him.” 

Fileg’s hand on his shoulder tightened, “I’m sorry, Thranduil. I hadn’t been thinking of that.” 

“’S fine,” Thranduil allowed, thinking a little bit more clearly as wakefulness came, “Not your fault.” 

The king sat up a little, pulling Theli up into a sitting position against him. Thranduil nodded to Linwe and Captain Boronthor standing beyond Fileg, then shook Theli with his free hand. 

“Theli. Wake up. It’s full dark.” 

“Son of a diseased harpy and a hump-backed orc,” the healer swore as he came fully awake almost at the once, just like Master Nestorion and Elrond most often did. 

Fileg chuckled as he offered first Theli and then Thranduil a hand to their feet. 

“Take care, elfling,” Fileg teased Theli, “You’ll make poor Captain Boronthor blush with your language!” 

“I’ve heard far worse,” that worthy said wryly, “And it was much less upsetting than thinking that something might have happened to you, Thranduil. Which is what I feared when your gwador Linwe reported the recent foot and hand tracks of some other person climbing up the other side of this hill earlier this evening.” 

“Sorry about that, Boronthor,” Thranduil said, with some true remorse, “But Theli wasn’t a threat.” 

“I’m not a threat,” Theli confirmed, “I’m in trouble, that’s what I am,” the apprentice healer continued unhappily, “I’m supposed to be at my and Lindir’s tent before nightfall, or else have sent word to Master Nestorion and Lindir of why I won’t be.” 

“Master Nestorion will understand that you fell asleep. He won’t be upset, or at least not once he knows what happened,” Thranduil reassured his young friend. 

“How do you know that?” Theli asked, half-reassured and half-dubious. 

“Because I know him,” Thranduil said easily, his feeling of inner peace due to the surety of his father’s continuing love lingering within him. 

“I don’t know,” said Theli, still concerned as he began following Thranduil and his guards back down the easier side of the bluff, “Master Bregalen didn’t usually care where I was. But my Grandda . . . I mean the older healer who trained me at my home village, he always got mad when he couldn’t find me. And he didn’t like to be disobeyed, no matter what the reason.” 

The flash of fear in Theli’s midnight blue eyes as he spoke of his first teacher woke a spurt of anger in Thranduil. 

“Imagine that,” the king said heatedly, “The Witch of the Northern Woods is unreasonable, even with his own kin.” That complaint made Thranduil almost remember something else, but he couldn’t quite call it to mind. 

Theli, meanwhile, ceased his descent so quickly that the sure-footed Linwe almost tripped over him. 

“Please don’t tell anyone that, Thranduil,” the healer pleaded, “That I’m his grandson, I mean. He disowned me for leaving. He doesn’t even consider me family anymore. And he doesn’t want anyone to use me to try to find him. Them, I mean. The villages I came from.” 

“I won’t say anything about it,” Thranduil promised, fighting for the self-control not to insult Theli’s grandfather further, “But you don’t have to worry. Nestorion isn’t like that. He won’t be angry that you fell asleep by accident.” 

“Thranduil’s right, elfling. Now keep up,” Fileg ordered. 

Theli obeyed. Sometimes he moved with almost the same grace as the other elves, and other times he almost tripped over his own feet before he caught himself – or Linwe caught him. When that happened Theli usually had a pensive look on his face, and asked things like, “Do you think that Wood Betony might grow in the lands we’ll be marching through next? We could use some fresh,” and other similar irrelevancies. It was rather like going on a walk through the woods with Elrond’s friend Erestor, except for Erestor went on about the history of things rather than how they might be used in healing remedies. 

When they finally reached the base of the wooded bluff, which had been a far more treacherous climb in the dark, Thranduil’s other guards weren’t alone in waiting for him. General Rochendil was there, as were Thranduil’s uncle Vehiron and cousin Luthavar, and Master Nestorion, too. All four of their faces bore worried expressions, which eased when they saw Thranduil whole and well. 

Nestorion’s worry eased further as he saw Theli behind Thranduil. 

“Sorry for causing a stir. He – then I - fell asleep watching the sun set,” Thranduil announced, sacrificing his own dignity to keep Theli out of trouble. He hoped that the younger elf appreciated the gesture, for it cost Thranduil in pride to make it. Although some explanation would have been called for in any case. 

Rochendil’s, Luthavar’s, and Nestorion’s lingering concern, and Vehiron’s incipient scold, receded at Thranduil’s explanation. 

“I see,” said Nestorion, his intent gaze assessing first Thranduil and then Theli, “No harm done, Aran-nin, Ecthelion. Although you both would do better to sleep more at night, if you’ll pardon my saying so.” 

“What a novel concept,” Thranduil said, with only a small amount of sarcasm, “As I think I could actually sleep more tonight, I’d like to take you up on it immediately.” 

“Dinner first, Thranduil,” his uncle reminded him, “And then we have to get through at least the start of the reports on exchanges of supplies with the Lothlorien and Imladris caravans.” 

“I can do that,” Luthavar offered, “If you and Thranduil will trust me with it, that is. I’ve already reviewed the initial recommendations from our folk, and I spoke with Erestor and Captain Sendoron today to canvass their views. It won’t take me long to come up with a summary for the two of you to look over at breakfast.” 

“Thank you, Luthavar,” said Thranduil, before his uncle had a chance to disagree, “I trust you. You’re very good at this type of thing. I greatly appreciate your help with it, especially tonight. It’s the first time I’ve actually felt like I could fall asleep without being drop-dead tired in . . . I can’t remember how long.” 

Nestorion cleared his throat and gave Thranduil’s uncle a firm look. 

Vehiron sighed, but ended up deciding, “Yes, please, Luthavar. Come, Thranduil,” Vehiron sighed again, and then added, “if you will. I will help find you something small to eat. And then you can fall asleep.” 

“Thank you, Uncle.” 

As Thranduil walked with Vehiron back towards the command tent, he heard Theli excitedly telling Nestorion about having seen lemon grass on the bluff. 

“That means that there might be Wood Betony, too! I want to go back and look in the morning.” 

“Provided that you take another healer with you and check with the perimeter guard, I think that is a very good idea, Theli. But next time do remember to leave word of where you will be if you are going somewhere near sun down.” 

“Yes, Sir, I will, or at least I’ll try to remember to,” Theli promised, just before they walked out of Thranduil’s hearing range. 

Thranduil did actually sleep that night, deeply and truly. He remembered the dream of his father coming to him during the rest of the journey home, and felt less alone than he had before. Oropher wasn’t gone, even though he was somewhere else. Wherever he was, Thranduil knew that he had his father’s love, and pride. The new King vowed to do his best to continue to make his father proud as the new Third Age began.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Thranduil’s friendship with Theli the healer was forged in the fires of the War of Wrath. But it would be during the Third Age that their friendship would endure through the fire of betrayals, treasons, and the Siege of the Wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This is a gap-filler chapter of sorts. When my notes for Thranduil and Theli’s lives in the Third Age passed the 100 page mark, I decided that I didn’t have the patience and the time just now to fully write up the Third Age and still finish the part of this story in the Fourth Age which was originally requested, not when I have another story request that I’m behind on! And when I also want to return after that to Beginnings & Endings, my main Faramir and Aragorn story. So I would recommend that, for now and until I manage to return and flesh out the Third Age, readers who want to know more about Theli and Thranduil in the Third Age read more of the earlier chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
> A specific list of Theli and Thranduil stories can be found in the End Notes. Thank you! 
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Healer Galadaelinethuil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “They had battled and bloodied one another, they had kept secrets, broken hearts, lied, betrayed, exiled, they had walked away, said goodbye and sworn it was forever, and somehow, every time, they had mended, they had forgiven, they had survived. Some mistakes could never be fixed - some, but not all. Some people can't be driven away, no matter how hard you try. Some friendships won't break.” ― Robin Wasserman, Greed
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs

Thranduil spent the Third Age being the King of a Greenwood which came more and more under siege by the Enemy and his servants. So desperate did times become for the Greenwood’s elves, that they lost control over all but the northern quarter of their forest home, and even that they had to fight constantly to maintain a tenuous grip on. Outsiders called their woodland home the “Mirkwood,” so corrupted did it become by dark creatures and Sauron’s poisons. 

What respite the Greenwood got from the Enemy’s siege during the Watchful Peace, they fought and bled to earn. Thranduil himself led a party of elves to Dol Guldur to destroy all but the foundations of the Enemy’s source of power in the Wood, Thranduil’s own former home of Amon Lanc. Theli was part of that war party, an important part, albeit not the most rule-abiding of Thranduil’s warriors. 

In fact, it often seemed to Thranduil that Theli spent the better part of the Third Age, at least when he wasn’t serving under Nestorion as a royal healer, getting suspended or expelled from Thranduil’s army for insubordination or lack of judgement. Never for lack of dedication, and there were stretches of centuries at a time where Theli served the Army well. He was even promoted to high office, which he then used to protect Thranduil’s youngest son Legolas from mutiny charges by claiming to have committed treason himself. Later, after Thranduil had allowed Theli back into his Army because he so badly needed healers who could also fight, Theli helped Legolas to commit treason again. That second treason Thranduil was able to sweep under the rug. 

For Theli’s honesty, friendship, and unique way of looking at people and events and then explaining them to Thranduil, the King had ennobled the healer-soldier not long after the Watchful Peace. Not long, also, after Theli had returned from a temporary exile to Lothlorien for having given his opinion to Thranduil unsolicited and undiplomatically. While in Lothlorien, Theli had been captured by orcs with his cousin Orophin and tortured for information concerning the ways in and out of Galadriel and Celeborn’s haven. It was not Thranduil’s fault that that had happened, but he could not help but feel some guilt for his friend’s suffering, no matter how many elves – among them Theli – assured Thranduil otherwise. 

Theli, too, had learned from that experience. He was somewhat more careful what he said to Thranduil, knowing that exile was a possible consequence of not minding his tongue. Thranduil regretted that, in part because he did not like for his friends to fear him. And he valued Theli, for continuing to be honest despite his fear, and for all the times that Theli would say something, or do something, which would inspire Thranduil to think of something that would help him hold on to hope just a little longer. 

In the end, it was not insubordination but loss and battle sickness which finally brought a permanent end to Theli’s spotty career in Thranduil’s army, only a handful of years before the end of the Third Age. Because of that, Theli was not with Legolas when Thranduil’s only surviving heir went to Imladris to report their kingdom’s loss of the captive creature Gollum. If Theli had been with Legolas, then Thranduil would have known that Legolas would at least not have gone on the Quest of the Fellowship of the Ring without an elf of the Greenwood to support him. 

To Thranduil’s infinite relief, Legolas returned alive and whole from his adventures with the Ringbearer and the expedition to the Black Gate. With Thranduil’s reluctant permission, Legolas elected to remain in Gondor for the better part of a year following his oath-brother Aragorn’s coronation and wedding to their cousin Arwen Elrondiel. 

When at last Thranduil’s youngest son returned to his father’s North Hall in the Greenwood, he did not come alone. Legolas came in company with Aragorn’s Steward, Faramir of the House of Hurin, as he was then known, the first Prince of Ithilien. 

Faramir was there as Legolas’ guest and also as the Reunited Kingdoms’ representative, to sort out matters of trade and defense arrangements between his people and Thranduil’s. He was also there because he had a bad tendency of working himself too hard, and Aragorn had expected a trip to the Greenwood and diplomatic negotiations to be less trying than Faramir’s normal duties. Which, apparently, they were. 

Thranduil liked Faramir well enough from the start, for his loyalty and friendship to Legolas. But despite liking Faramir, and liking Aragorn as well, Thranduil had not been minded to concede to Legolas’ request to establish an elven colony in Ithilien. In Thranduil’s opinion, he and Legolas and all of the Greenwood elves had enough to do with healing their own Wood. However, a substantial minority of Thranduil’s family, friends, and trusted advisors took up Legolas’ cause. That had not been enough to persuade Thranduil to accede, but he had agreed to consider the matter further. 

The elven king grew to like Faramir even better when he learned, to his shock, that Faramir had once saved Thranduil’s foster-son Thalion’s life, when Faramir and his brother and their companions had been only children. Thranduil had NOT been pleased to learn that Thalion, instead of taking a leave of absence to go camping with friends near the safety of the North Hall as he’d told his father and King, had instead used that time to track a pack of orcs all the way south into the no-man’s-land between Gondor and Harad. In fact, it was the first time in many centuries that Thranduil had found himself having to lecture his oldest child. Legolas had been inappropriately gleeful at Thalion receiving a paddling, which had baffled Thranduil, because Legolas was not normally the type of elf to be pleased at another elf’s come-uppance. 

Thalion had been patient with his much younger brother, and, with Faramir’s encouragement, had begun to heal the rift between himself and Legolas caused by their mother’s death and Thalion’s past difficulty communicating his pride and his love to Legolas. That process was still on-going when Legolas and Faramir and their guards departed the Greenwood to return to Gondor, with the matter of the elven colony in Ithlien still as of then undecided. 

In Legolas’ absence, and given his recent knowledge of Thalion’s less than wise decisions, Thranduil realized that he had to some extent neglected his role as a father to Thalion. There had been reasons – governing a kingdom under siege and worrying about the much younger and more reckless Legolas paramount among them. But still, Thranduil recognized that even at a little over 3,000 years of age, Thalion still needed his father to be his father sometimes, and not just his friend and his king. After all, even at the better part of 5,000 years of age, Thranduil still missed his father, and needed occasional guidance from his fathers-of-the-heart. Thalion, being Thalion, by and large appreciated the extra paternal attention. 

With Thranduil’s support, Thalion was able to confess the feelings of being overwhelmed and never being able to do enough which had led him into the trouble from which the young human Faramir, Boromir, Gendarion, and Dervorin had helped to rescue him. Thranduil was able to see to it that his foster-son saw a mind healer, and had Thranduil’s support while he did so. 

Meanwhile, during what should have been a relatively uneventful return journey to Minas Tirith, Legolas was captured by a band of orcs when he raced ahead of his companions and guards in pursuit of the creatures. Legolas had abandoned common sense and set off like a knight errant due to the presence of an elleth in the company of the orcs. Faramir had ordered their guards to alert Thranduil and Aragorn as to Legolas’ capture, and had then set off himself on the trail of Legolas’ captors. 

Legolas’ eyes had not deceived him. There had been an elleth amongst the orcs who captured Legolas. She had been raised by the orcs, but took pity on Legolas and assisted Faramir with freeing him from captivity and escaping. The formerly feral elleth named herself Grace, and returned with the wounded Legolas to the North Hall in the Greenwood. 

Thranduil had not been at all minded to agree to let his hot-headed youngest son lead a colony so far away as Ithilien after that near-disaster! But then Thalion had spoken up on Legolas’ behalf. And Legolas had offered Thalion the position of his chief advisor, if Thranduil agreed to allow his youngest son to establish the colony. Trusting that his sons would cover oneanother where they were weak, Thranduil had given his reluctant blessing to the colony of Ithilien-en-Edhil. 

With Ithilien’s long and hostile border with their defeated Enemy’s former servant nation of Harad in mind, Thranduil sent Theli as one of the elves who would serve Legolas in Ithilien-en-Edhil. Thranduil did not particularly like having both Legolas and Thalion both so far away as Ithilien. But the King understood duty, and friendship, and he was proud that his oldest and youngest sons understood and embodied those principles too.

Thalion and Legolas again gave their King and father much to be proud of during their first few years in Ithilien. Thalion proved an able administrator and Legolas a responsible leader. When Thranduil visited Ithilen-en-Edhil and Emyn Arnen himself for the first time, he was very impressed with his sons’ efforts. He also found his affection for Faramir increasing, not only for his own sake and for the sake of his friendship with Legolas and Thalion, but for Faramir’s wife’s sake. Eowyn reminded Thranduil somewhat of his lost daughter, Eryntheliel, and so he loved the White Lady almost from their first meeting. 

In the autumn of 3019, Thranduil’s two sons and their garrison helped Faramir, Eowyn, and their people to fight off an attempted invasion by a mixed force of Easterlings and Southrons. Afterward, Legolas continued to support Aragorn and Faramir as the human King learned that his beloved Steward and friend was in truth his blood son. Thranduil visited Gondor and Arnor himself for the second time in the wake of that revelation, as he had strong feelings about the rights of natural-born children. 

It was a comfort to Thranduil to know that his sons had a healer they liked and trusted as much as Theli with them while they were so far away from his own care. And Thranduil had cause to be glad that Theli was with Legolas in Emyn Arnen when the Lady Eowyn was poisoned, late in her third pregnancy. Theli, and Elladan Elrondion, saved Eowyn’s life and the life of her and Faramir’s second daughter, Mithiriel. Theli was still in Emyn Arnen, as a healer attendant on the fragile baby Mithiriel, when King Aragorn’s Steward of Gondor – and first-born son – Prince Faramir disappeared. 

Theli was there in Emyn Arnen to send a desperate messenger to the cursedly annoying (to Thranduil) dwarf Lord Gimli, warning him that Legolas might try a desperate ride into Haradric lands to rescue Faramir. For that, Thranduil owed his son’s life to Theli again, even though Theli had also put Thranduil in debt to the irritating dwarf. 

When weeks became months with no word of Faramir’s fate, Thranduil himself came to Minas Tirith with a delegation from his newly renamed kingdom of the Wood of the Green Leaves. The elven King remembered how Aragorn’s distant uncle Elendur, and forefather Imrazor, had once supported him in the wake of his father Oropher’s death during the War of Wrath. And Thranduil remembered too how Gondor and Arthedain had sent delegations with what aid they could offer when Thranduil’s wife and three eldest children were slain as the result of Saruman’s machinations at the end of the Watchful Peace. 

Thranduil went to Gondor to support Legolas in his grief, and Aragorn as well. He knew what it was to lose one’s firstborn son. The elven King took turns watching Aragorn’s son Eldarion and Faramir and Eowyn’s older children Theodwyn and Elboron. He argued, and worked, with his long-time mentor and friendly adversary Glorfindel in advising Aragorn and his captains regarding the security of Minas Tirith and the Reunited Kingdoms. Generally, Thranduil made himself useful to his human cousins, doing what he could when he could to comfort and succor them while they waited for word certain of Faramir’s fate. 

When word finally came, it was not what they had feared. It was Faramir’s flag on one of Dol Amroth’s ships seen from the Citadel. And in short time Faramir himself, alive and well, returned to them with his cousin Amrothos and a Haradric prince as their honorable hostage. 

And so Thranduil was able to join in the celebrations over the safely returned Faramir, which was much preferable to helping his family grieve him and bury him. The elven King could have left Gondor just after Aragorn’s son’s arrival. However, Thranduil’s regents at the North Hall had everything in the Wood of the Green Leaves well under control. And Thranduil hadn’t finished arguing with Glorfindel over what measures they thought that Aragorn should take to reform his newly reorganized and rapidly growing armies.

Moreover, Aragorn was quite frustrated with Faramir despite his overwhelming relief at his beloved son’s survival. And Thranduil had experience with both sides of that. As a father, furious with Legolas (for it was usually, but not always, Legolas) for scaring him to death and defying his will, while yet at the same time being unendingly grateful for his son’s still living. And Thranduil had experience having been such a son, fearful of his father’s justified anger at whatever the young Prince Thranduil had done most recently. 

Although Thranduil was not quite sure that he, or even Legolas, had ever done something quite so infuriating as continuing for years to illicitly spy in a dangerous foreign country without their King’s knowledge. But still, as such a father and such a son, Thranduil had the benefit of experience to share with Aragorn, and with Arwen and Elrohir. Elladan, somewhat unpredictably, was much less angry with his nephew-by-adoption Faramir, for reasons which were unknown to Thranduil at the time but which would later became rather horrifyingly clear. 

Lastly, Thranduil stayed in Gondor through the summer following Faramir’s remarkable reappearance because he was enjoying his visit. It was good to be with Legolas and Thalion, and to hear how well they were doing with their self-appointed tasks in Ithilien-en-Edhil. It was good also to be with Aragorn and his family, who reminded Thranduil favorably of Men he’d known and loved in his past. And, though it was bittersweet, Thranduil wanted to spend as much time as he reasonably could with Elrond’s daughter Arwen, before she succumbed to the mortal fate she had chosen and followed her husband into the Halls of Mandos. 

And so it was, that Thranduil was present in Minas Tirith, with Legolas, Thalion, Theli and a number of other elves, when this series of events happened: 

Excerpt from “It’s Called Treason,” Legolas POV: 

The pandemonium [in the large common room of Thranduil’s apartments in Minas Tirith] was just as bad as Legolas had expected. Faramir and Eowyn met his gaze from across the room, and the three of them shared an amused, exasperated look. As an elfling, Legolas had always loved his father’s gifts of puppies and kittens and other creatures to care for and love, but he had to admit as an adult that he didn’t really think that Aragorn’s household in Minas Tirith had required six wolf hound pups! No matter how cute and well-tempered they were. 

Faramir was holding his one-year old daughter Mithiriel in his arms, while Eowyn was holding their half-niece, Melyanna. Their daughter Theodwyn and son Elboron were running around the room, playing some sort of complicated game of tag with Aragorn and Arwen’s son Eldarion and their playmates, Legolas’ foster-niece Calenwen, Prince Alphros of Dol Amroth, Lord Veantur, and Healer Olidhor’s daughter Sayril, and with Lord Haldir’s and Lord Orophin’s children, Laeriant, Lisi, and Gala. 

The nine hound puppies which [Legolas’ father Thranduil had brought as gifts for the children] – including Calenwen’s, Sayril’s and the two belonging to the elflings– gamboled about the children, occasionally stopping to stare longingly at the sideboard where a light repast had been set out. 

Legolas gathered from the grease decorating his father’s otherwise immaculate shirt sleeve that Thranduil may well have already indulged the pups and their parents with some strips of venison. That would be very much in character for his father. And amusingly enough, also for Gimli. Legolas’ dwarven friend was gamely stepping aside for dashing children and dogs and cats, occasionally shooing them away from where he stood chatting with his Aunt Dis, his mother Kala, and the Gondorian rulers. 

On the opposite side of Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen and Eowyn stood Thranduil’s elven retainers. Legolas mentally shrugged. That was fairly close and peaceful for a dwarvish-and-elvish interaction, even post-war. 

Thranduil had been accompanied to Minas Tirith by a full delegation, including among others his cousins Fileg and Lothgail, General Rochendil, and his friend and sworn brother Linwe. Together with Legolas’ foster-brother Thalion, who was Legolas’ regent in Ithilien-en-Edhil when the young prince could not personally be present, his family, and their elves from Ithilien-en-Edhil, there were a dozen or so Greenwood elves mixed up amongst Aragorn’s family and retainers. 

There were also elves from Imladris, led by Legolas’ cousins Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, and elves from East Lorien, led by their grandfather Celeborn. Celeborn’s adopted sons and their families were also present. Legolas found himself guided by his father to join Celeborn, who smiled faintly at them in greeting, before turning back to his middle son with a baffled, exasperated expression. 

“And you are certain that you need my assistance with this correspondence right this instant, ion-nin?” Celeborn asked. 

“I’m sorry, Ada, but it is quite time sensitive,” Orophin replied solemnly. 

From Thranduil’s expression, Legolas gathered that his father was dubious of that claim. Celeborn appeared to be so as well, but it didn’t stop him from excusing himself to aid Orophin with his endeavor. 

Not long after Orophin and Celeborn left, Theli poked his head cautiously into the large room from the hallway. He looked about the room intently before deigning to enter. The healer was delicately holding a rust-stained metal box at arm’s length, with the same care a man might hold a poisonous snake. 

This was interesting to Legolas for several reasons. The first of which being that Theli had somehow managed to avoid being in the same room at the same time as Celeborn during the entire duration to date of Celeborn’s visit to Minas Tirith. It was truly an impressive accomplishment, particularly given that Celeborn seemed very determined to talk to Theli. Gimli and Legolas had a bet going as to whether Theli was going to be able to keep up the streak. 

Thalion and Legolas had a side bet going as to whether Elladan, Orophin, and even Melpomaen were covertly helping Theli to avoid Celeborn. Unfortunately, from Legolas’ perspective, it was starting to look likely that Thalion was right about at least Orophin’s involvement. And Legolas couldn’t help but be cursedly curious about why any of them would bother! 

Theli’s entrance so soon after Celeborn’s exit had attracted the attention of others as well. Legolas’ father seemed particularly curious, but as was often the case with him did not come out and say so. 

Instead, Thranduil merely tilted an inquisitive eyebrow in Theli’s direction. 

The healer shrugged in reply, still appearing very uneasy. Then he surveyed the room again, and pitched a question towards Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir and Eowyn.

“Do any of you know where I could find a priest experienced with detecting and dispelling curses?” 

Legolas was momentarily struck dumb at the strangeness of such a request. Faramir, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. 

“At the temple of Eru, or the temple of the Valar, both on the sixth level,” the Steward of Gondor supplied. Then he followed up with a friendly “Would you like for me and Eowyn to take you there, Theli?” 

Both were very fond of Theli, who had worked with Elladan Elrondion to deliver their third child Mithiriel after Eowyn was poisoned late in her pregnancy. 

Faramir looked to Aragorn, whether to gauge his King’s opinion or because he felt that he needed to ask father’s permission Legolas did not know. Legolas wouldn’t blame Aragorn if he had placed restrictions on his older son’s wanderings, after everything that had recently happened. 

Aragorn, who was fond of Theli for much the same reasons as Faramir and Eowyn, graciously acquiesced to Faramir’s unspoken request, “You have time before dinner to escort Theli there, ion-nin, iel-nin. And a walk might do you good.” 

Faramir grinned a little at that, which made Legolas wonder if that had been Aragorn’s discreet way of letting Faramir off of whatever punishment duties his son might have otherwise been engaged in that night. It also made Legolas wonder, this time without irritation, how soon Aragorn would buckle on the subject of Faramir’s punishment. Gondor’s King had never made his son go through with the entirety of a long punishment before. Even given everything that Faramir had done, Legolas doubted that this time would be any exception. 

Theli smiled despite his evident preoccupation and worry. “That would be very kind, Faramir, Eowyn, thank you both,” he said, “I don’t really know my way around here yet. 

“And, in cities, you could get lost in a bucket,” Thranduil sneered. 

Theli wrinkled his nose and distinguished, “Not in a bucket. In a cul-de-sac, yes, possibly. All the stone walls look the same.” 

But no one was getting to the point that Legolas was actually interested in, so he spoke up himself. 

“Theli, why do you need a priest?” he asked. 

“It’s a really long story,” Theli said, looking uncharacteristically overwhelmed. 

“Should I be concerned?” Thranduil drawled elegantly, “Do you have a patient possessed by an evil spirit again?” 

“Not a patient, a present,” Theli corrected, “And I’m not sure if it’s possessed, or even cursed. But if it is,” he worried, turning to Faramir, “your priests of Eru and the Valar, they could take care of that?” 

“They have done so before, with similarly afflicted objects,” Faramir assured him, politely tamping down on his interest before asking, “Is it something which was created by Sauron?” 

“It doesn’t feel that bad,” Theli said, his head tilted thoughtfully, “Or even bad at all, really. It feels powerful, but not evil. But I really don’t want to be wrong.” 

Legolas’ father narrowed his eyes, now critical as well as concerned, “Who gave you this present? 

Theli began, “It’s a . . .” 

“Long story,” Thranduil finished for him cynically, “Yes, I’m sure. But I’m going to have to insist on hearing it anyway, Theli.” 

Legolas looked to his father in surprise. Thranduil generally didn’t have the time or energy to involve himself to such an extent in the lives of his elves. Well, besides Legolas and Thalion, who had in fact noticed that their father seemed to have more time and energy for following up on their activities and interests since the end of the War. Maybe Thranduil was bored? It had begun to cause the brothers to wonder how much paternal attention one really needed as an adult. In that light, maybe Thranduil’s being interested in Theli’s life was a good thing, and Legolas and Thalion should encourage it?” 

Theli, who really did interpret orders as suggestions, said firmly, “After I see a priest, Thranduil. If it’s cursed, they’ll be able to deal with it, and I’ll tell you about it after. The whole story. And if it’s not dangerous, I’ll show you, and tell you about it. I’m just not taking any chances.” 

Thranduil raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

“A wise course, when it comes to curses,” Aragorn put in diplomatically, “Do let me know if you find yourself in need of any assistance which you are not offered.” 

“I doubt that I will,” said Theli, with a fond smile, “Everyone here has been very kind and helpful, if sometimes a little overwhelmingly curious.” 

“You would know from overwhelmingly curious,” Thranduil observed sardonically. 

Theli rolled his eyes at his King, “Oh, I haven’t been like that in, hmm, a sixth of an age? Something like that?” 

“Don’t try to make me laugh by attempting to do non-healing related math in your head,” Thranduil ordered, “It always looks like you’re going to break something. Go, find your priest.” 

Thranduil then exchanged a look with his gwedyr, which somehow resulted in their cousin Fileg slapping Theli on the back in a friendly fashion and inviting himself along on their excursion to the temples of the Sixth Level [of Minas Tirith, order to find a priest to examine the items in Theli’s box for curses].

Legolas watched them leave, wondering what on Arda was in Theli’s box.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> : The Fourth Age is several years old, and a secret which has been kept since the Fall of Doriath in the First Age is about to be uncovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Master Rochirion belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs 
> 
> “If you don't believe in ghosts, you've never been to a family reunion.” –   
> Ashleigh Brilliant
> 
> “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” - George Eliot
> 
> Excerpt from Previous Chapter (Legolas POV): 
> 
> “Thranduil then exchanged a look with his gwedyr, which somehow resulted in their cousin Fileg slapping Theli on the back in a friendly fashion and inviting himself along on their excursion to the temples of the Sixth Level [of Minas Tirith, order to find a priest to examine the items in Theli’s box for curses].
> 
> Legolas watched them leave, wondering what on Arda was in Theli’s box.”

Thranduil watched through narrowed sapphire eyes as his long-time friend and sometime-healer Theli took off with Prince Faramir and Lady Eowyn. That is, until his older oath-brother Linwe nudged his shoulder. 

Thranduil turned to give Linwe an unimpressed look, to which his gwador merely arched one auburn eyebrow. 

“Yes, yes, Fileg is mostly a responsible adult, and he’ll be there to supervise,” Thranduil replied under his breath, “I’m still concerned by anything that oversets Theli to such an extent. Say what you like about my young healer friend, he is normally imperturbable.” 

Linwe tilted his chin, a concession of Thranduil’s point. Ever since Theli had ostensibly committed treason while under Linwe’s detached command about a century ago, Linwe had not particularly enjoyed being in Theli’s company. Thranduil, too, had been upset by how Theli had risked the lives of his elves. That is, until Thranduil realized that it hadn’t been so black and white as that. Theli had confessed to ordering the elves and Men under his command to undertake a dangerous expedition after slavers far outside of the Greenwood, and far away from aid. 

The truth had been rather different. Theli’s first order had been for his company to return to the Hall to seek reinforcements. Legolas, one of Theli’s junior officers at the time, had accidentally started a mutiny by refusing to return to the Hall and insisting on going after the slavers immediately, by himself if necessary. Over half of the company had joined in the mutiny. Theli had, in fact, then given the order to go after the slavers, but only to keep that half of his company under his command and as safe as possible. And to cover up the mutiny. Which he’d successfully done, as much as Thranduil had wanted to shake him for so doing when the King finally figured out the truth. 

A truth that Thranduil had not deigned to share with Linwe. The King felt badly about that. He was not in the habit of lying to Linwe. Or to Fileg, who likewise remained in ignorance of that particular truth. But what Theli had done had kept Legolas, and the other mutineers, safe from not only the charge of mutiny but also the danger to their careers and skins that even the suspicion of mutiny carried. Thranduil was too much a father to deprive his child of that protection. 

Additionally, Linwe was too straight an arrow to happily keep such a secret. Thranduil didn’t want to put his heart-brother in the difficult position of helping to maintain a lie. And besides, it wasn’t Thranduil’s secret to share, not really. It was Theli’s. The younger elf had suffered and even bled to keep it. So, even though Thranduil was bothered by keeping the secret from Linwe, and by Linwe’s distaste of being around Theli and Theli’s resulting quiet sadness at that, Thranduil continued to keep his silence. 

“Daerada!” called an adorable female elfling with dark curls, bringing Thranduil’s attention back to the present in a way that only small children can. 

The King of the Greenwood braced himself as his foster-son’s daughter, Calenwen, leapt into his arms. 

“Well, Chipmunk,” Thranduil said, cradling the little elleth against his side with one arm and stroking her chocolate colored curls with his sword hand, “I see that you’ve already trained your new pup Wolfling to sit and stay.” 

“Only if I give him ham for staying,” Calenwen piped, “Wolfling really likes ham, but Nana says he can’t have any more today.” 

“That is wise of your Naneth,” Thranduil said, with a smile for his daughter-by-law Rian, his foster-son Thalion’s wife of the past five years, “Tomorrow perhaps we can work on teaching Wolfling and his friends to heel without ham to motivate them.” 

“Aran Thranduil,” called one of Thranduil’s guards, Thalosdir, “An elf of the Greenwood has come to the Citadel gates seeking an audience with you. He gives his name as Bregalen.” 

“Show him in,” Thranduil replied, wondering why the ancient wood elf and healer had sought him out. 

“Here, Calenwen,” said Thalion, as Thranduil handed his granddaughter back to her father, “Come with Ada. Your Daerada has to be King for a while.” 

“Ada, do you want me to stay?” Legolas asked. 

Although Legolas seemed all the perfectly dutiful heir as he offered, Thranduil could tell by the yearning expression in his youngest son’s laurel green eyes that Legolas was hoping his father’s answer would be no. 

And given that Legolas would likely succumb to the sea-longing before his work in Ithilien-en-Edhil was done, Thranduil answered, “No, ion-nin. You may as well accompany your gwador Aragorn to evening arms practice. I will see you and your brother again at dinner.” 

Legolas obeyed with a relieved grin. Thranduil was at the once both glad to have pleased his son and somewhat envious. Thranduil himself was rather disappointed himself to have to miss the practice. Oh, he’d had many an opportunity to cross swords with his sons in friendly competition since his visit began. But he always enjoyed it, and would have preferred to have spent time with his sons and friends in exercise, rather than hearing out old Bregalen. 

The large common room of Thranduil’s suite emptied as warriors and children and child-minders gave their goodbyes to the elven King in order to go about their early evening activities. 

Linwe, however, remained by Thranduil’s side. The King had expected nothing else. Normally it would have been Fileg who stayed as Thranduil’s attendant. But since Thranduil had sent Fileg to keep an eye on the worryingly perturbed Theli and his mysterious box, it would be Linwe. 

Thranduil’s cousin Lothgail sent all of her handmaidens save one on ahead, and then waited until she was alone with Thranduil – but for Linwe – before asking, “Cousin, would you like me to stay?” 

“Yes, actually,” Thranduil decided, after a moment of considering the idea. 

Lothgail was one of Thrandul’s next-heirs after Legolas, and the King was trying to give her as much exposure to the reins of governance as possible. After surviving for so long, it was unlikely that Thranduil would be slain before sailing now that peace had once more come to Middle Earth and their Greenwood. But there was no harm in making sure that his heirs who were not suffering from the sea-longing were well prepared to succeed him. What’s more, the King appreciated Lothgail’s discretion in waiting until after Legolas had left to make her offer. This way, Legolas would bear no guilt over his lucky escape. 

Thranduil took a seat beside the window in the large common room of the apartment being occupied by the Greenwood party. He gestured for Lothgail to sit beside him, while Linwe and Lothgail’s handmaiden Camendis took up positions standing behind them. 

“Your Majesty,” Camendis said with an apologetic smile. 

“Bregalen’s not here yet, and he’s not the type to be impressed by ‘your-majestying’ in any case, Camendis. So I still can’t hear you unless you use my name,” Thranduil said, only half-teasing. 

“Yes, my Lord,” which was as informal as Camendis was willing to be, “Perhaps you would be willing to retire briefly so that Captain Linwe could help you change into a new tunic? You have, um, grease on your cuffs.” 

“That’s what you get for feeding wolfhound pups from the sideboard, gwador-laes,” Linwe chided mildly, even as he accompanied Thranduil into his bedchamber in search of the aforementioned new tunic. 

“I doubt that Bregalen will care,” Thranduil said, although he did deign to change out of his teal-green satin tunic and his long-sleeved heather gray silk undershirt into a long-sleeved silken tunic in a shade of silvered blue. He did so in part to save Lothgail’s and Camendis’ tender sensibilities. Camendis was a talented seamstress, and Lothgail one of the most fashionable ladies of Thranduil’s court, albeit without being particularly vain about it. 

Linwe helped Thranduil to exchange one tunic for another without mussing the golden-blond warriors’ braids which held the King’s hair partially back and well out of his eyes. The braids twinkled in the late afternoon sunlight, interwoven as they were with tiny glittering beads of blue and green sapphire, blue moonstone, aquamarine, blue diamond, benitoite, kyanite, tanzanite, green emerald, green alexandrite, and green garnet. The different precious and semiprecious beads had been gifts from his family, friends, and fellow warriors throughout the many centuries since Thranduil had first pledged his sword to the service of his father’s kingdom. Less glittering but no less prized by the King were a handful of small stone beads, made out of pebbles tumbled smooth and bright by the Greenwood’s rivers and streams. The first of those had been a present from Adan, a wood elf and a fellow soldier. Several of them were gifts from Theli, who had come from the same village as Adan. 

Linwe was, however, much slower at this task, and buttoning up the mother-of-pearl buttons on the back of Thranduil’s new tunic, then Fileg was. 

“Fumble-fingers,” Thranduil accused with a fond smirk. 

“At least I don’t need help getting dressed like an elfling,” Linwe shot back dryly. 

“You would if you had to wear my clothes,” Thranduil retorted. 

Linwe conceded that with a nod and a fond smile of his own in the mirror over Thranduil’s head as he finally finished his task. 

Thranduil smiled back as he put a cabochon cut moonstone locket back over his fair head. The blue rainbow moonstone looked well against the silvered-blue silk, the King decided. He declined to wear a ring, even though the well-meaning Fileg had packed several in Thranduil’s jewel casket for him to choose amongst. Thranduil was too much a swordsman to wear rings with any ease. For centuries he had worn his marriage ring, and the ring his grandmother had given his father, which Oropher had willed to Thranduil, around his neck on a twisted chain of steel and gold. He had lost that chain the week his wife and his three middle children had died, going after the orcs and spiders who had slain them. After yeni safely around his neck, the chain had broken sometime in that week, and Thranduil had lost so much else he’d barely noticed it. 

Because that thought always made him frown, Thranduil dismissed it abruptly, and went back to main room, Linwe by his side, to rejoin Lothgail and Camendis in awaiting his guest. 

Lothgail who sat at Thranduil’s right side wore an indigo velvet dress with dark gray and pale thistle-purple embroidery. The deep shade brought out the elleth’s charcoal eyes, and complimented the strands of incandescent gray pearls holding back her waves of shining ebony hair. Camendis wore a pretty gown of thistle purple-pink with subtle floral embroidery and matching ribbons wound through her half-braided up honey brown hair. 

Linwe wore his uniform as a senior captain in Thranduil’s army. Unlike his king, he carried his sword even while in the peace and security of Aragorn’s house. He also wore a sheathed mithril dagger on his pommel. It had a jade jewel on its hilt. Thranduil wore a matching dagger, but with a sapphire, and their other gwador Fileg’s dagger bore a clear light-blue topaz. 

“Aran-nin,” Thalosdir announced from the entry way, “Master Healer Bregalen.” 

“Hello, old friend,” Thranduil greeted, getting to his feet and walking to meet the wood elf healer, tinker, and toy-maker whom he’d known for an age and a half. 

“Well-met, my young Aran Thranduil,” the ancient wood-elf greeted, clad in his home spun wool, his ash blond hair half-braided back with blue jay feathers, “It’s good to see you again. I see that arm’s healed after the last battle of Dol Guldur, eh?” 

“It has,” Thranduil confirmed, clasping the wood-elf’s arm in the traditional greeting of warriors. Bregalen wasn’t a warrior, but he was well-respected by many of those who were. 

“Always have to be in the thick of the action, don’t you, young Thranduil?” Bregalen observed with a chuckle, “Drive your poor guards mad, doesn’t he, Linwe?” 

“Sometimes,” Linwe, who had known Bregalen nearly as long as Thranduil, conceded with a slight smile, “But keeping up with him keeps us fit.” 

“There is that,” Bregalen recognized, his broad face creasing in another smile, “And who is this beauty, then? Elder Luthavar’s daughter, I’d guess? I recognize those eyes.” 

Lothgail smiled enchantingly as she rose gracefully to greet their guest. 

“Yes, she is,” Thranduil agreed, “Bregalen, please be known to my cousin, the Lady Lothgail. Lothgail, this is Master Healer Bregalen, who first patched me up when Linwe and I were posted at the village of Meordanas as young soldiers during the mid-Second Age.” 

“It truly is a pleasure to meet you, Master Bregalen,” said Lothgail, in her rich, smoky voice, “Especially after all the fascinating stories I’ve heard from my parents and my cousin Thranduil!” 

Lothgail didn’t say so, but she’d also likely heard of Bregalen from Thranduil’s wife Minaethiel. Minaethiel had met Bregalen on a trip to Meordanas to visit Thranduil and Linwe, and the two very different elves had somehow become fast friends. Bregalen had taught Minaethiel to make puppets and dolls, which the young Queen had later taken joy in making sure that all elflings had at least one of for Yule, many of them made by her own hands. One of many things that Thranduil liked about Lothgail was that she knew it pained him to have those happier days with his wife by his side discussed, and didn’t bring them up. 

“I’m pleased to meet you as well, lass,” Bregalen said informally but with great warmth, “Do tell your clever father and your wise mother hello for me.” 

“I will, Master Bregalen,” Lothgail promised, “And my father would undoubtedly wish me to thank you for convincing the new southwestern villages to pay their taxes!” 

“No thanks are necessary, Lady Lothgail. I merely had to point out that they are taking advantage of the new roads and army patrols that our Aran and his Council are providing, and most of them saw the light.” 

Lothgail introduced Camendis to Bregalen, and Thranduil offered the tinker a seat. Camendis served their company tea and toffee biscuits from the sideboard. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Bregalen?” Thranduil asked, pleased to have a guest who would not object to his getting straight to the point. 

“I’m come for two reasons, Thranduil lad. One of them’s a matter for the King, and the other partially is as well,” Bregalen said gravely, his pale azure eyes intent, “The first is to let you know that Eldun has sailed, with his people.” 

“Eldun?” Lothgail inquired curiously. 

“The Witch of the Northern Woods,” Thranduil said, managing to keep his tone merely sardonic instead of angry through sheer strength of will, “And, in my opinion, good riddance. Eldun is our Theli’s grandfather, and an elf who had a great deal of power over the part of the northeastern corner of the Wood where he lived with his reclusive people,” Thranduil explained for Lothgail’s benefit. 

“Oh, him,” Lothgail realized, trying her best to hide that she shared Thranduil’s disapproval of an elf who had such power, and yet refused to use it to help protect the Wood as a whole. 

“Yes,” Thranduil agreed, trying not to sneer, “Him. Well, thank you for telling us, Bregalen. We’ll need to readjust the patrols to the north of the Wood. Because the one thing that Eldun was actually good for was keeping orcs and bandits out of his part of the forest.” 

“Aye, I’d thought that you might need to know,” Bregalen replied, before further explaining, “Eldun asked me to accompany his people all the way west and south to the docks at Ithlien-en-Edhil. Or rather, Elissed did. Eldun’s nephew.” 

“That would make this Elissed . . . Theli’s cousin?” Thranduil reasoned aloud, “and the blood-grandfather of my cousin Celeborn’s adopted sons Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil?” 

“Aye, Elissed is all of that,” Bregalen agreed, “And he’s more reasonable than his uncle Eldun, not that that’s saying much. But he was reasonable enough to ask me to come, in order to guide any of his elves who chose not to sail at the last minute back to the Greenwood.” 

“And did any choose to stay?” Thranduil asked softly. 

“Aye, about a dozen of the younger ones,” Bregalen answered with a smile, “The ones who most love the Wood, and can’t stand to leave before they’ve done all they can to help it heal. They’d like to pledge themselves to serve you, and join your Kingdom. They asked me to feel out whether you’d have them.” 

“I’ll have them,” Thranduil said quickly, touched that even amongst the isolationist Eldun’s people there were those who loved the forest as he did. 

“I daresay that Theli will be glad for them,” Thranduil continued. 

“Likely so,” Bregalen replied equably, “Theli’s always been good to those who leave Eldun. I don’t think that any of this lot except maybe one know Theli by anything except reputation, however. They’re mostly too young, early Third Age elves.” 

“Theli sometimes seems like an early Third Age elf himself,” Thranduil commented wryly. 

“There are reasons for that,” Bregalen replied, his tone just as wry. 

Thranduil huffed, “Yes, I’ve had the displeasure of meeting Eldun. Even as grateful as I was for his aid in caring for my wounded foster-son Thalion at the time, I can well imagine that Theli didn’t have much of an elflinghood.” 

Bregalen smiled somewhat sadly, “Theli would say, as a matter of fact he has said, that he had a fine elflinghood. He was loved, Thranduil,” Bregalen pressed intently, “even if they did let him grow up too much on his own, and take on too many responsibilities too young. But Theli’s grandmother Eirian, his cousin Elissed and Elissed’s wife Rilly, Nallos the Noldo and his wife Serenwen, even Eldun – they all loved Theli dearly. He broke Eldun’s heart when he decided to leave.” 

Thranduil raised a skeptical eyebrow. When Bregalen remained sincere, the King said, “Then I hope that you’ll forgive me for not being able to be sorry that he left. Theli has done a lot of good for the Greenwood, and for my family.” 

“I know,” said Bregalen, with a stronger smile, “And Theli made the right decision for him, in leaving. I’ve never doubted that, not since I first saw Theli again outside Amon Lanc just before the War of the Last Alliance, and saw his zeal for the healer’s arts. But his people did love him, and still do. His Gran Eirian and Grandda Eldun – and he was Grandda in that moment, not village elder – they gave me a casket to give to him.” 

“Ah,” said Thranduil sarcastically, “Well, their very much-loved grandson Theli is afraid that his grandfather might have cursed whatever is in that casket. He’s gone to consult with a priest about it.” 

Bregalen chuckled, his azure eyes twinkling with deviltry, “Has he, now? Well, I’m sure that Theli won’t give up on that idea until it’s thoroughly disproven. He’s a worrier.” 

“I’d never noticed that,” Thranduil said, wryly affectionate, even as he felt rather than saw Linwe’s disbelief from his friend’s position beside him. 

“Yes. One closeted worrier often has trouble recognizing another,” Bregalen teased. 

Thranduil, declining to recognize that, attempted to assuage his curiosity by asking, “Do you know what is in the casket, which Theli is so very afraid might be cursed?” 

Bregalen sighed, and looked torn. After a moment he said softly, “If it’s what I suspect that it is, then it may . . . change some things. For Theli, in particular.” 

Frustrated to not have his question answered in a straightforward manner, Thranduil considered pressing the point. Then he considered the unaccustomedly solemn Bregalen, and tilted his head in thought. After a moment of consideration, Thranduil asked instead, “And how are you related to Theli yourself, Bregalen? If you don’t mind my asking.” 

The ancient elf chuckled ruefully, “You’re a quick one, Thranduil lad. You always have been. Theli is my . . .” Bregalen paused in thought, “Great-great nephew thirteen times removed? Or is it fourteen?” He thought for another moment, “I think it’s fourteen. I don’t usually keep track of my descendants beyond the fourth remove – I just think of myself as great-uncle to the entire Sylvan population. Aye, and now to you Sindarin transplants as well, you’ve been with us for so long. But Theli’s mother Pelinel reminded me of my little sister. So I figured out how we were related.”

With a wistful smile, Bregalen elaborated, “If Pelinel had lived, I think that she and Theli together would have been enough to convince Elissed, and then Eldun, to join your kingdom of the Wood. Or at least ally with it. Eldun could have helped us, during the War.” 

“Theli wasn’t sure of that last,” Thranduil pointed out with a thoughtful frown, “Whether his grandfather the Witch could have helped, I mean. Theli said once that Eldun’s powers were tied to the forest.” 

Bregalen lifted a hand in the elven equivalent of a shrug, “Mayhap Theli knows better me, on that. But Eldun could have helped Theli, certainly, in other ways, and he knew it. I suppose he is at least doing his best now by leaving the casket. I’m not sure if it will be a kindness or not, but family is important. Don’t you think so, Thranduil?” 

“Yes, family is important,” Thranduil agreed, curious as to what point Breglaen was trying to make. 

Bregalen nodded back, “Good, I’m glad that you think so. Well, if that is all, I’ll take my leave of you to go tell the younglings waiting in Ithilien-en-Edhil that you’ll accept them into the Greenwood. They’ll be relieved.” 

Thranduil rose to see his guest to the door, “Thank you, Bregalen. For your services to all of your great-nieces and nephews. And to all of us who have come to love them.” 

“You’re most welcome, lad,” the old elf replied, lifting his hand to gently squeeze Thranduil’s shoulder, “Do take care of yourself.” 

The King frowned at that somewhat demeaning parting reminder, and was unsurprised when Linwe behind him put in wryly, “Our dear King struggles with that last. Thankfully, Thranduil has elves for that.” 

“It’s a good thing, too,” Bregalen said, loosely holding onto Thranduil’s shoulder as he asked hopefully, “You know that, as well, I hope. That royalty, and those with great responsibilities, especially new ones, that they need help.” 

“I’ve never doubted it,” Thranduil reassured Bregalen, even more curious now as to what point the healer and tinker was trying to make. 

“Good,” Bregalen said, with a last hopeful smile for Thranduil, “Remember that.” 

“I will,” Thranduil promised, despite not being exactly sure as to what he was promising. 

After Bregalen had left and Lothgail and Camendis had departed with promises to work with Thalion regarding assisting Eldun’s abandonees with adjusting to new lives within the Greenwood, Thranduil turned to Linwe and bluntly asked, “What in the name of every Tree was that ancient fellow on about?” 

Linwe shook his head, his dark red warrior’s braids with their jade, adventurine, and moonstone beads likewise glimmering in the sun, “I have no idea, gwador-laes. No idea whatsoever.” 

Restless, but with too little time left to join his sons and their companions at arms practice, Thranduil turned back to his correspondence. Linwe amused himself with a book on the military engagements during the Ring War which Elrohir had given to Thranduil, and ignored Thranduil’s irritated mutterings as the King worked on the mundane administration of kingship which he had never enjoyed. 

To Thranduil’s pleasure, his sons rejoined him after bathing, their cheeks still pink from exertion and their wet hair smelling of citrus (Legolas) and almonds (Thalion) respectively. Spending time with his children was much more to Thranduil’s taste than administration. 

About half an hour later, Theli returned the dirt-stained stone casket held gingerly in his hands, and a High Priest of Eru in his wake.

His midnight blue eyes troubled, the healer asked, “Thranduil, can I speak to you? Alone?” 

Thinking of all he owed Theli, through the years, Thranduil would have said ‘yes,’ even without Fileg giving him a subtle but intense ‘say ‘yes,’ gwador’ glance over Theli’s shoulder. 

“Why alone?” Linwe asked guardedly. 

Thranduil and Fileg shared a look of frustration at that. The King was not looking forward to having to overrule Linwe to allow Theli a private chat, but he was prepared to do it. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. 

“Well, alone-ish,” Theli amended, “You and Fileg can stay, if you want, Captain. But not anyone else.” 

“But not me,” Legolas mocked bitterly, causing Thranduil to meet Fileg’s eyes again in shared exasperation at Legolas’ young adult sensitivities. Thranduil’s youngest child hated to be excluded from anything, and often assumed that it had to do with his age. Thranduil wasn’t sure whether to just order Legolas to toe the line, or to try to soften his insistence with something cajoling. Luckily, although not surprisingly, Theli already had that in hand. 

“Oh, Las-nin, only not you, or Thalion, not so much because I think that what is in here might be dangerous,” Theli explained in a pained tone, “It was given to me by my grandfather . . .” 

“Oh!” Legolas exclaimed, moving beyond the offense to his youthful pride long enough to run a finger gently over the scar high on Theli’s left cheekbone, “Do you mean the grandfather who gave you this?” 

“Yes,” Theli agreed, after holding still to permit his young prince’s familiar gesture, “That one. Thranduil knew him - and I'd rather not talk about it more than I have to. If it's safe, I promise I'll tell you the whole story later. Peace?” 

“Peace,” Legolas conceded with a half-apologetic smile. 

Thalion collected his baby brother with an arm around Legolas’ slender shoulders, “Come, muindor-Las nin, let's allow the adults to protect us again.” 

“Fine, fine, since Theli asked so nicely,” Legolas grumbled, “But don't you ever get tired of it, Thalion? You’re over 3,000 years old!” 

“Of course I do,” Thalion replied, seeming surprised that Legolas hadn’t realized that, “But it seems to make them feel better, and the less you protest, the more likely they are to forget about it next time.” 

His sapphire eyes narrowing at his sons as they paused to bid him farewell at the door, Thranduil told them, “I'm not really sure that the two of you becoming friends and allies was really the best thing that ever happened for the peace of my house.” 

Both of Thranduil’s sons, his youngest blood heir and his older foster-son, grinned at him before leaving. 

“You know that you're proud of them,” Fileg reminded Thranduil sympathetically. 

“I am,” Thranduil allowed, before turning his attention to Theli and the raven-haired Gondorian priest, gowned in the soft white robes of a priest of Eru. 

“May I?” Theli asked, nodding towards the table by the window that Thranduil had covered in much-marked over drafts of letters. 

“Yes, go ahead,” Thranduil encouraged, curious himself to see what was in the mysterious stone casket. 

With Fileg’s help, Thranduil shuffled the confidential scrolls into a covered basket beside the table. Partially so that Theli’s mystery box didn’t get them dirty, and partly because, although Thranduil trusted Theli’s discretion, there was no need to let an unknown priest of Eru take a gander at the King of Greenwood’s privileged correspondence. 

Theli put the casket down on the table in the manner of an elf dealing with an unpredictable poisonous reptile. The healer put a pair of silk gloves on his hands, and then handed another pair to each of Thranduil, Linwe, Fileg, and the priest. Only then did Theli flip open the box, as cautiously as if it contained a live boom stick or a firework. 

Thranduil eagerly leaned forward to inspect the contents. On a soft length of white cotton bandaging lay two chains of gleaming gold, each thumb-long length of which was studded with a shining gem. Beside the chains were two small white-gold rings. 

The square-cut jewels on the bright gold chains were almost blinding. Thranduil recognized bold red and green garnets, blue star sapphires, rare purple sapphires, fuchsia rubellite tourmalines, mysterious black spinels, and brilliant yellow diamonds. The jeweled chains were identical, and each worth a king’s ransom by itself. 

And yet it was the quieter silvered rings which most strongly drew Thranduil’s attention. Identical again save that one ring was mounted with a blue moonstone and the other with a darker blue star-sapphire, each ring was sized as if to fit the finger of a four year old human child, or a ten year old elfling. Thranduil reached down to gently pick one up, but Theli’s hand around his wrist stopped him fast. 

“Put on the silk gloves first, Thranduil. Please,” the healer implored. 

Thranduil wanted to hold the ring in his bare hand, so he looked to the priest instead of Theli for guidance. 

The priest smiled reassuringly and explained, “As I have assured Healer Theli numerous times, my colleagues and I are quite certain that this jewelry is not cursed. To the contrary, it was in fact blessed. And strongly so, for the feel of the blessing has lingered down through however many centuries this box and its shining contents lay in the ground.” 

“Yes, you think so, Priest Berendir, and the jewelry doesn’t ‘feel’ off or slimy,” Theli agreed, “But it ‘wants’ to be worn, and that makes me nervous. Just be cautious, Thranduil, won’t you? Please?” 

“Do be calm, Theli,” Thranduil reprimanded lightly, reaching down to pick up the further away ring with his bare fingers. He succeeded, but he had to dodge Linwe’s quick hand. 

“It’s fine, Lin, Theli,” Fileg soothed their irritated oath-brother and the wincing healer, “After all, Eowyn, the priests, and I all handled them with bare hands, and nothing happened to us.” 

Fileg also managed to shoo the well-meaning priest out of the room, despite Theli’s objections, and Linwe’s support of those objections. 

Thranduil heard them, but was too busy observing the little ring to pay much attention. A cabochon cut blue moonstone was on top of the ring. Delicate engraving around the ring took the shape of a chain of leaves, making the moonstone in the center seem no more than a drop of dew amongst silver leaves. It was beautiful, and elegant, and very Iathrim. 

In fact, the delicate engraving of the leaves round the outside of the ring reminded Thranduil very much of the floral filigree on his father’s silver ring, the one that Oropher’s mother Neldiel had given him on Oropher’s coming-of-age, long ago in old Doriath. And the cut of the softly glowing blue moonstone on this leaf ring seemed remarkably similar to the cabochon turquoise at the heart of Oropher’s ring. 

Thranduil turned his attention to the inside of the little leaf ring. The inside of his father’s ring had been engraved with Oropher’s name in old high Iathrim. 

Thranduil felt a shiver go down his spine as he read the name on the back of this ring. In what seemed to be the same hand as the engraving on his father’s ring, the long-ago Doriathrin jeweler had inscribed, “To Elured, our heart and our moon.” The same perfectly formed letters, just even smaller on this ring than on Oropher’s ring that Thranduil had lost. 

That loss ached, it always did, but in that moment the thrill of discovery dulled the old grief. Thranduil put the moonstone ring down very gently on the cotton, and picked up the sapphire ring. 

“To Elurin, our heart and our star,” read the engraving on that ring. 

Thranduil, still holding that ring, because even though he preferred the moonstone ring, the star-sapphire ring felt more strongly ‘like’ Theli, asked his younger friend, “Your grandfather left you this casket?” 

“Yes,” Theli said with a sad sigh, “Grandda Eldun said – he actually wrote in a letter, and I didn’t think that he even knew how to write - that what was in the casket was all that was left of his and his brother’s first life. And that since,” Theli’s voice broke for a moment, “Since I’d chosen the wider world over my family, it was only right that I have what they’d left behind, when they chose their family over the wider world.” 

“What an ass,” remarked Thranduil absently. When Fileg elbowed him, hard, the King looked up and amended that to a more supportive, “He was not a particularly caring grandfather to you, Theli mellon-nin. I’d recommend taking anything he said with a heaping tablespoon of salt.” 

“Yes, I know,” Theli agreed, with a sad half-smile, “I don’t take what Grandda says about most things that seriously.” 

With the hand that wasn’t cupping the sapphire ring, Thranduil ruffled Theli’s shoulder-length ash blond hair and praised, “Good. I’d like you to answer some questions about him for me, if you can?” 

“About Grandda?” Theli asked, pushing Thranduil’s hand away but still seeming steadier for the rough affection. 

“Aye, and his brother.” 

“Great-uncle Elboron? I never met him, Thranduil. He died before I was born. I knew his son, my cousin Elissed. And then Elissed’s son Emlyn, I met him during the War of Wrath.” 

“I remember Emlyn,” Thranduil said gently, remembering with startling clarity how alike Emlyn had looked to Elrond, “But it’s Eldun and Elboron I need to know more about for now. Were they twins, Theli?” 

“Yes, they were,” Theli confirmed, surprise plain on his expressive face, “How did you guess that?” 

Before Thranduil came up with an answer, Fileg reached over to tug teasingly on Theli’s left ear. An ear which Thranduil noticed, not for the first time, was much less pointy than the average elven ear. But Thranduil had never thought anything of it before. 

The King considered Theli more thoughtfully than was his wont. Someone less like the elegant Elrond, at least in appearance, was hard to picture! However, in spirit, there were certain strong similarities, and Elrond himself had taken Theli as his especial protegee from almost their first acquaintance. But, for what Thranduil now suspected was the case to be proven true, the physical differences would need to be explained. 

The healer elf was short, amongst the shortest male elves of Thranduil’s acquaintance, in fact. That was unlike the heirs of Dior, who were generally a tall lot. But Thranduil could remember Theli having once said that several years of harvest went awry when he was a young teenager, such that he – and all the elves of his village – had gone short of food during Theli’s growing years. Thranduil was aware that famine could affect height, at least in humans. 

And, like a part-human, Theli had broader and more muscular shoulders than the average warrior elf. He was far from a match for the Wood’s better swordsmen, but in a straight contest of physical strength, even Thranduil had to be careful when matching himself against Theli. When Theli had actively been serving as a soldier, Thranduil had found himself only winning bouts with the healer-turned-warrior through skill and clever tactics rather than brute strength. Skills Thranduil had learned, in part, from practicing opposite Elrond, with the peredhel lord’s unfair strength advantage derived partially from Glorfindel’s constant training, but also partially from his own nearly half-human muscles. Theli hadn’t been quite a match for Elrond himself in strength, but he very nearly was a match for Elrohir and Elladan. 

And Theli was attractive enough, or at least so Thranduil’s wife had once told him when their teenaged daughter briefly conceived an elfling’s crush upon the healer. 

“He is more cute than handsome,” Minaethiel had said at the time, “but he has been so kind and attentive while her broken arm is healing, even after she re-broke the long bone ignoring his and Nestorion’s instructions. Given all of that, it’s easy enough to see why Theli would take Eryntheliel’s fancy. Don’t worry, meleth, I’m fairly sure that Theli has had experience letting young ellith down gently.” 

And so it had proved. Eryntheliel had always liked Theli, almost all the royal elflings had, but she had moved past her crush quickly enough once she was healed and back amongst her familiar birds and beasts. 

The healer elf had a heart-shaped face and eyes of such a dark midnight blue that they appeared almost black in certain lighting. He wore his wavy ash blond hair cut short at shoulder length, and half pulled back and kept out of his face with a strip of leather, in the Mannish fashion. 

Theli wasn’t dressed as a Lord, although Thranduil had made him one, or even as the prosperous and skilled healer which he was. Instead he wore a plain linen shirt of good quality, but paired it with worn brown leggings and well-made but much abused boots. His dark blue woolen sleeveless tunic had likely been attractive once, but it was faded from washing, and he wore no evident jewelry. His plain leather belt and dagger sheathe likewise bore the signs of heavy use, although his belt-purse (likely containing varied healing supplies) appeared to be both costly and new. 

On one occasion Thranduil had troubled himself to inquire of the healer and new-made lord why he didn’t dress in a manner more befitting his station, since Thranduil knew (because he’d asked to make sure) that he paid his healers quite well. 

“They’re clothes, and they’re warm and clean and dry, with no trailing threads to get in my way,” Theli had answered, in the manner of someone who had made similar explanations to others many times before, “and they’re usually covered by a healer’s robe, to boot.” 

“Your work robes are often worn and stained themselves – yes, albeit clean, Theli,” Master Healer Nestorion had criticized his former apprentice on that occasion before Thranduil had needed to think up an answer, “You would do well to put a greater effort into clothing yourself in such a manner as to inspire confidence from our royal patrons.” 

Theli had offered to try, and had in fact done somewhat better for a time, but the improvement hadn’t lasted. If what Thranduil had begun to suspect was true, then Theli would just have to do better. A great-grandson of Dior Eluchil simply could not go about in worn clothing and a patched belt. It wasn’t acceptable to Thranduil. And it would likely not even be tolerated by his cousin Celeborn! 

“Ow!” Theli objected, swatting Fileg’s hand away from his ear and bringing Thranduil’s attention back to their discourse. 

Fileg’s hand darted in to tug on the slightly rounded tip of the other ear, “Theli, didn’t the Dol Amroth folk say that you were like them? Part-human, like them?” 

“Yes,” Theli confirmed, smacking Fileg’s away hand more firmly, “But I think they just meant that as a compliment. After all, the only part-elves are them. Mithrellas’ descendants, I mean.” 

“And Elrond and his family,” Fileg noted, continuing to distract Theli from the significance of Thranduil’s inquiries by aiming for his other ear. 

“Ow! Stop tugging on my ears, Fileg!” Theli protested with utter exasperation, “I don’t tug on your ears, do I? The last time I had to give this lecture, it was to an elfling! Your elfling Brasseniel, as a matter of fact! When she was ten!” 

“My younger lass always was intrigued by the unusual,” Fileg said fondly, “And what do you mean, what is it with me today? You’re the one acting strangely, Theli.”

“I think I’ve some reason,” Theli countered, reaching the extreme -for him- of sounding a bit indignant, “Not only are you tugging on my ears like an elfling, but you treated poor Caelion as if he were an orc!” 

“I didn’t like him,” Fileg said, more serious now, “Something about him gave the bodyguard in me a bad turn. And I didn’t like that he wanted you to go back with him, alone, to see his sick father.” 

“What was this?” Thranduil asked sharply, putting the sapphire ring down for the moment. The years had given Thranduil a very healthy respect for Fileg’s bodyguard instincts. 

“Some patient of the Healing Hall here in Minas Tirith,” Fileg reported, still idly darting one hand or the other towards the wary Theli’s ears, “He says that his ailing father is too frightened of healers to actually leave their home, so he wants Theli to go back there with him.” 

“And I’ve told him,” Theli said, getting up and walking to stand on the other side of Thranduil, to get away from Fileg, “That I can’t go with him, just me. We visiting foreign healers don’t go alone to see patients in Minas Tirith. We always take at least one Gondorian healer with us, if we see a patient outside the House of Healing. I’ve told Caelion that the House can borrow Citadel guards to help bring his father to the House on a litter if he needs. But, for some reason, Caelion just wants me. It’s very odd,” Theli complained. 

“Don’t go anywhere with this Caelion, Theli,” Thranduil commanded, as Fileg stalked Theli – and his ears – around Thranduil’s shoulder. 

“I wasn’t going to!” Theli protested, “I told you, there’s a rule!” 

“And are you also going to tell me that you would heed this rule, if this Caelion said he needed a healer urgently?” Thranduil asked, putting out one hand to hold Theli still, and the other to wave Fileg away from him for the moment. 

“Yes!” Theli insisted, “Because there are healers assigned to every level of the city! Caelion has said that he and his father are dwelling on the first level of the city. If he’s gotten all the way to me in the Citadel before asking for help, then clearly the situation wouldn’t be so urgent that I couldn’t take the time to get another healer and a guard as well!” 

“At least four guards,” Thranduil insisted, “Or you don’t go with him at all.” And even that concession to Theli’s healer-instincts Thranduil didn’t particularly like making. 

“Eee,” Theli objected, as if it were Thranduil who was being unreasonable. 

“Ecthelion,” Thranduil said, injecting no small amount of sternness into his tone. 

“Yes, fine, four. I will,” Theli promised, even though he clearly didn’t like it. 

“You’d better,” Thranduil promised direly back. He didn’t need Theli to like the new rule. He only needed him to obey it. 

Half in apology for the sternness – it wasn’t Theli’s fault that some annoying and suspicious human was bothering him, after all - Thranduil ruffled his hair again. 

“Eee, what is with both of you, today?” Theli complained, but the teasing still had him looking steadier than he had been. 

Thranduil nodded subtly to Fileg, in thanks for starting that, before beginning his questions again. 

“Theli, what did your mother look like?” the King asked, remembering that Theli’s grandfather Eldun had been raven-haired and gray-eyed. He’d looked not at all unlike Elladan and Elrohir, in fact. Both of whom Eldun had eyed suspiciously, during their brief visit. 

“I . . . my grandmother said that I have her eyes,” Theli shared, looking down. 

Thranduil squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and concluded, “Blue-eyed, then.” 

Theli nodded and said, “Yes, dark blue. My grandmother Eirian’s eyes were also blue, but they were a pale blue-purple. Like a periwinkle flower.” 

“But your father’s eyes were gray? Like Aragorn’s, or Faramir’s?” Thranduil queried. 

“Or Elrond’s. Or his sons’,” Fileg added, a smile hovering around his mouth and cerulean blue eyes. 

“Yes, my Da and Grandda had gray eyes, that same mostly-gray-but-a-little-blue shade as Elrond’s, and his twin sons’,” Theli answered, taken aback yet again, “How did you know?” 

“And their hair was dark,” Thranduil continued, not stopping to answer Theli’s question, “But your mother’s hair was light, or lighter? Or your grandmother’s was?” 

“My grandmother had silver blond hair. She said that my mother had hair the shade of ash-tree bark, almost like mine,” Theli answered. 

“Which explains why you are light-haired and blue-eyed, while your father, grandfather, and great-uncle were dark-haired and gray-eyed,” Fileg put together, saving Thranduil the effort. 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Theli agreed, “But I don’t see why that matters?” 

“We’ll explain later,” Fileg assured him in an off-handed but friendly manner, before asking, “Was your grandfather Eldun the younger twin, or the older one?” 

“Umm,” said Theli, frowning in a baffled manner, “The younger? I think? I’m not really sure.” 

“Theli,” Thranduil asked kindly, “Would you be willing to leave your casket and its contents here with me, for the time being? I believe I can tell you where your grandfather and his twin brother came from, before the Greenwood. But I have to ask a few more questions, first.” 

“I . . . of course, Thranduil, if you’d like,” Theli allowed, “I have a class to go teach at the House of Healing now.” 

“This late?” Thranduil asked, looking out the large windows into the garden, where the golden-green shadows of twilight were gathering. 

“Yes, for surgery students who have other work during the day,” Theli explained, “The House of Healing has a supply of cadavers, and with mirrors and lanterns it’s bright enough to do dissections even at night.” 

“Eww, please, say no more,” Fileg urged, encapsulating Thranduil’s opinions on that matter quite accurately. 

“It’s not disgusting, it’s just nature,” Theli said, with a healer’s disdain for his current company’s fine sensibilities, “I mean, yes, it’s sad that someone died. But in today’s Minas Tirith, it’s most often someone of advanced age to whom death came gently.” 

“Well, that’s something, at least. And a pleasant change from the past Age,” said Fileg. 

“It is,” agreed Thranduil, before turning his attention back to his healer friend – and possible cousin. 

“Go on, Theli. Teach your students about nature, and whatever else. I wish them strong stomachs,” Thranduil instructed, “Then come back here for dinner.” 

Theli tilted his head questioningly, “Here? For dinner? Not the King’s dining table on the second floor?” 

“Here,” Thranduil confirmed, revising his plans for the evening as well as Theli’s, “I believe that I may have some answers for you by then.” 

“That would be really good. Thank you, Thranduil,” said Theli with a shy smile, his midnight blue eyes shining with gratitude. 

“You’re welcome, bratling,” said the King fondly, “Don’t forget to be back for dinner.” 

“I won’t. Thank you again!” Theli called back over his shoulder, as he went out the door.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil investigates whether his friend Theli might be his own cousin, as the great-grandson of Dior Eluchil, the son of Luthien and Beren and the last King of Doriath. Or, in other words, whatever did happen to the lost princes Elured and Elurin of Doriath?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, his friend Linwe, General Rochendil and Master Rochirion belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “If you don't believe in ghosts, you've never been to a family reunion.” –  
> Ashleigh Brilliant
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” - Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign

Alone with this gwedyr in the brightly lit common room, Thranduil leaned back with a bemused smile, “Odds on Theli’s grandfather being Elured? Or Elurin? One of the two.” 

Thranduil’s maternal cousin Fileg grinned back, “I’m not taking that bet.” 

With a dubious shake of his head, Linwe addressed the both of them and said, “You can’t know that, gwedyr-dithen. It’s more likely that Theli’s grandfather – whom you’ve said yourself was a cruel and unfeeling elf, Thranduil – looted those rings from Menegroth in old Doriath. Or even stole them from your elfling cousins himself. Or, less awful but even more probable, that he and his twin were wandering in the woods and found these trinkets amongst the poor princes’ bones.” 

“No,” Thranduil countered confidently, “There’s always been something about Theli that reminded me of Elrond, and of myself. This explains it. And besides, old Bregalen implied so much. He must have known, or at least suspected.” 

“Bregalen? My sister’s favorite fossil was here?” Fileg asked. 

“Yes,” Thranduil confirmed, and explained to Fileg that odd visit, which Theli’s rings had just made sense of. At least to Thranduil. Linwe was not so convinced. 

Firmly but without sympathy Linwe told Thranduil, “I think that you’re thinking so only because you so dearly want like to have more family on this side of the sea, gwador-laes. And because you don’t want to think that your friend’s grandfather could be so awful. But just because Theli is good-hearted and would never act so dishonorably, that doesn’t mean that his grandfather didn’t commit such misdeeds.” 

“No, Lin. I’m sure,” said Thranduil with quiet certainty, “But I’ll ask more questions, just to be thorough.” 

The King just had to hope that the always-protective Linwe would be satisfied with that for the time being. Thranduil understood his older gwador’s skeptical perspective, but on some level Thranduil just knew that they’d already found the answer. That this was it, this was why Theli had seemed familiar to him from the very first, this was the ‘thing’ he hadn’t been able to put into words. 

Theli reminded Thranduil of Elrond not just because Theli was a strong-willed healer like Elrond, but also because Theli was likewise Luthien’s descendant, and Nimloth’s. A thousand upon a thousand little things that Thranduil had dismissed as coincidences over the years suddenly made sense. Almost everything about Theli that had baffled Thranduil over the years suddenly made sense, including Thranduil’s own feeling of kinship with him, and the King’s protectiveness towards the younger healer. 

Linwe raised both of his hands, palm-up, in the elven gesture of unwillingly conceding a point, but still troubled himself to caveat, “I’ll let it be for now, Thranduil. But before you claim that kind elf who is also a reckless, irresponsible loose-arrow as your kin, I’d like you to at least run it by the Elder Set.” 

The “Elder Set” was the term which the relatively young Greenwood King, his gwedyr, and their friends used in reference to Thranduil’s cousins Elrond and Celebrian, and anyone else of Thranduil’s kith and kin older than the former Lord and Lady of Imladris. In essence, as Linwe now used the term, it now referred to Thranduil’s remaining aunt and uncle, and to Thranduil’s edair-i-gur. Of the latter, only General Rochirion and his twin the Horsemaster Rochendil were with Thranduil’s delegation to Minas Tirith. Although Linwe might also be including Celeborn within that number, as Thranduil’s much older cousin and also as another heart-father to Thranduil. 

Thranduil decided to just assume that Linwe was including Celeborn, because doing so simplified the King’s answer to his older oath-brother’s poorly concealed order. 

“I’m not going to share this possibility with Celeborn until I’ve done everything that I can do on my own to prove or disprove it,” Thranduil said determinedly. Thranduil thought that it would be an act of utmost cruelty to dangle the possibility of Celeborn’s great-nephews Elured and Elurin having lived and produced heirs of their own who were still on Middle Earth, including Celeborn’s own adopted sons, without first doing as much as he could to ascertain whether that theory was true or not. 

After receiving a reluctant nod of agreement from Linwe, Thranduil continued, “And, as to the rest, I’ll use my judgement.” 

“Gwador-laes,” Linwe began, in a tone that was still kind but bordered on older-brotherly-threat. 

“Gwador-iaur,” Thranduil said, matching Linwe’s tone and manner, “Who I choose to claim as kin is my own affair.” 

“Thranduil . . .” 

“No, I’m sorry,” Thranduil apologized, realizing that he was letting his enthusiasm get the better of him, “You are my family, too, Linwe. And I do care what you think,” even if some of what Linwe thought of Theli was wrong, “But that doesn’t change my course of action in this case. Theli is my friend, he has been loyal to me and mine for over an age, despite trial and torment. If he is my cousin, then I want to claim him as such.” 

“I still think it’s premature,” Linwe argued. 

“Let it go, Lin,” Fileg advised with lazy amusement, “Gwador-laes is set on this, and I think he’s right. Besides, before Thranduil says anything affirmative to anyone, he’s already going to ask Rochendil and Rochirion what they can confirm of Elured and Elurin from having been in Dior’s army in Doriath, and Captain Glorfindel what he knows of the making of the gaudy gold necklaces.” 

“Elfling-sized chains of office,” Thranduil corrected, letting the rest of it go because he thought that Fileg was on the mark, “And I’m also going to ask Horsemistress Tauriel of Imladris what she knows of Eldun’s and Elboron’s origins.” 

“Oh?” Fileg inquired, as Linwe looked to be considering withdrawing his objections. 

“Aye, she’s Nallos Canyavasion’s granddaughter. His wife Serenwen was from Eldun’s village. His whole family left Eldun’s villages only a century or so before Tauriel was born, because Nallos’ daughter Silaen married someone from outside their villages,” Thrandil explained. 

“Oh, that makes sense. I’d forgotten that, if I ever even knew it,” said Fileg. 

“And why do you think – the both of you, apparently – that Captain Glorfindel would know anything of this?” Linwe asked, still dubious. 

Fileg laughed, and lifted up one of the brightly bejeweled gold chains, “Because anything this expensive but garishly tasteless could only have been made by the Noldorin exiles of the First Age.” 

“I agree,” Thranduil said with a half-smile of his own, “Which means possibly Gondolin, in which case Glorfindel might have personally known the long-ago jeweler who made the chains. Or possibly Nargothorond, in which case Lord Erestor, whom I also wish to speak with, might recognize the jeweler’s maker’s mark from his work with the survivors of Nargothorond in Lindon and Imladris.” 

Linwe sighed, “Well, it seems like you’ve thought through your research at least, Thranduil. If all that proves out, then I suppose that you’ll have substantial grounds upon which to act. I do still wish that you’d consult with at least Rochendil before saying anything to Theli, or anyone else.” 

Thranduil appreciated that Linwe hadn’t actually said that he was hoping that Theli wasn’t Thranduil’s cousin, because Linwe was still disappointed in Theli’s decision-making and couldn’t trust Theli because of it. Thranduil understood that, because he himself hadn’t been able to truly take Theli back into his confidence again until after he’d figured out that Theli had been lying about what had really happened to protect Legolas and Legolas’ fellow mutineers. 

As long as Theli had been mostly in Ithilien-en-Edhil with Legolas and Linwe had been mostly in the Greenwood with Thranduil or commanding his unit, Thranduil had been able to handle the unease that his older gwador felt in Theli’s company, and Theli’s corresponding hurt-masked-by-stoic-endurance. But now, if Theli was in fact Dior’s great-grandson and Thranduil’s cousin, he would be more often in Thranduil’s company. Thranduil would insist upon it, in part because he enjoyed Theli’s company, and in part so that he could teach Theli how to behave like a royal lord. And to do so quickly, well, relatively quickly, so that Theli would be able to act the part in time to accompany Legolas when Thranduil’s beloved son sailed to the West. 

Linwe spent as much time with Thranduil as he could, and that was the way that Thranduil liked it. Which meant, if Thranduil’s questions produced the answers that the King by now expected, that the time had come for Thranduil either to tell Linwe the truth of what Theli had actually done himself, or to somehow get Theli or Rochendil to tell Linwe for him. 

Rochendil had told Thranduil that he had sworn an oath to keep the confidence before the Elders had told him, so that was out. Thranduil wouldn’t command his friend and heart-father to break an oath. Theli hadn’t taken a vow to lie that Thranduil knew of, but the younger elf was determined to continue to protect the warriors he had already burned his career and reputation as an officer to protect. It was going to be a tricky and difficult conversation with Linwe no matter how Thranduil handled it, and the King was not looking forward to it. More because Linwe would be hurt by not having been told the truth from the beginning, or at least as soon as Thranduil himself knew, than because of the likely yelling, or even worse, cold silence, from Linwe. 

But for now, Thranduil had an intriguing investigation to continue! The mystery of what had happened to the twin princes Elured and Elurin of Doriath had been a puzzle that Thranduil had longed to know the answer to since his youngest elflinghood. Solving that mystery would be a prize worth having in and of itself. And the possibility of gaining a friend and three other young elves (whom he liked to varying degrees) as cousins was more than worth the sacrifice of a difficult conversation – which would have to be had at some point anyway. 

“I’ll keep your reservations in mind, Linwe,” Thranduil promised, “But for now, would you be willing to do me a favor, and ask Rochendil and Rochirion if they have twenty minutes or so to speak with me?” 

Linwe agreed, which left Thranduil alone with Fileg. 

The King turned to his only surviving close contemporary male cousin, Thranduil’s mother’s third cousin once-removed. 

Fileg grinned back at him, “You want me to go and get Tauriel, Glorfindel and Erestor so that you can talk to them?” 

Despite serving as one of Thranduil’s elite royal guards, Fileg didn’t wear their uniform, but rather was dressed as his King’s attending lord in a sky-blue silk tunic, charcoal satin leggings, and shiny black boots. He was often at Thranduil’s side at even the highest level of meetings. With his wheat blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, and sunnier disposition, Fileg had often been called a lighter echo of his King and cousin. He also knew Thranduil’s mind as well as anyone living. 

“Yes,” Thranduil affirmed, before qualifying, “But ask Tauriel to come in half an hour, so that I have time to talk to Rochendil and Rochirion first, and then the Golden Flowers to come in three quarters of an hour.” 

Fileg whistled, then said, “You really don’t want them to prejudice one another’s opinions.” 

“No, I don’t. This is too important for that. Or at least has the potential to be so.” 

“As you say, my King and baby brother.” 

Thranduil rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond to Fileg’s tease. To do so would only encourage him. Instead Thranduil took advantage of his few moments alone to prepare messages to Legolas and Thalion regarding the evening’s schedule changes, which he gave to Sergeant Thalosdir to pass onto the royal messengers for delivery. Then Thranduil closed Theli’s box, because the questions he wanted to ask Rochendil and Rochirion would be better asked without visual clues. 

In little time Lieutenant Thalosdir had dispatched that task and was announcing Linwe’s return, with General Rochendil and his twin brother, Horsemaster Rochendil, in tow. 

Friends and contemporaries of Thranduil’s father, the two formidable warrior elves were mirror images of one another, broad-shouldered with copper-colored hair and forest-green eyes, the only difference between them being that Rochendil wore his hair in warrior’s braids and Rochirion did not. 

“Thank you both for coming,” Thranduil greeted them warmly. 

“Of course, our elfling,” Rochendil answered for them both, “We are always pleased to see you, but what is it in particular that we can help you with? It must be either time-sensitive or confidential, otherwise I expect you would have waited for dinner.” 

“The latter,” Thranduil acknowledged, with a fond smile for his heart-father’s acuity, “I should first let you know that I won’t be attending the dinner hosted by Aragorn tonight. I’ve sent Legolas a message to let him know that he is leading our delegation in my place. I will be dining alone with Theli.” 

“What has he done now?” Rochirion asked in a bemused manner. Theli wasn’t with the army anymore, but he still helped Rochirion train horses for the army healers. 

“Nothing at all,” Thranduil answered, his emotions swinging back and forth between pleasure at having found a new kinsman in a friend, and sorrow that he hadn’t known about it earlier. For Rochendil and Rochirion’s benefit, and so that they didn’t suspect Theli of misdeeds unknown, Thranduil explained, “Theli’s grandfather, Eldun the Witch of the North, has just sailed, after leaving Theli a . . . hmm, an inheritance of sorts. Theli is somewhat unsettled by the whole matter. I want to see if I can help him make sense of it.” 

Sympathy was plain on both twins’ faces. Earlier in the Third Age, Thranduil had shared with them the story of his encounter with Eldun and the wounded Thalion, including how Eldun had injured his own grandson and marked him for death should Theli ever return again to his birth people for any reason. While the King had otherwise done his best to maintain Theli’s privacy regarding the incident, Thranduil had needed to vent his anger at Eldun’s cruel treatment of his grandson to someone, and Rochendil was always a safe audience. 

The King had also needed to share his mingled anger, relief, guilt, and annoyance that Theli had risked his own death by bringing Thalion to shelter in Eldun’s village without even bothering to ask Thranduil by-your-leave-Aran-nin. Not that Theli was ever really inclined to do so. It was both one of his charms and a trait which drove Thranduil mad. And it was, in fact, a trait which becoming Theli’s kinsman gave Thranduil a greater right to have a say about, which was worthy of more thought at the least. 

“It is kind of you to assist Ecthelion so, my elfling,” Rochendil praised, “I think that he will appreciate that. Forgive me for intruding into a matter which is properly Ecthelion’s, but is the. . .inheritance, something dangerous, or unkind?” 

“It’s not dangerous,” Thranduil reassured his heart-father, “and for once I don’t believe that the Witch meant for it to be unkind. It’s Theli’s story to tell though, ‘Chendil.” 

“Fair enough,” Rochendil conceded. 

“I asked Linwe to bring you both because I have several questions I hope that you can answer for me. Questions about Doriath,” Thranduil began. 

“About Doriath, Thranduil?” Rochendil asked, startled. 

“Yes. I’m wondering if either of you knew, by name or reputation, the jeweler who made the ring that my father wore. The one that his mother Neldiel Brandiriel gave him on his coming-of-age, which I lost . . . at the end of the Watchful Peace.” If he could help it, Thranduil did not speak of his wife’s and his children’s deaths.

“It was silver, with a cabochon turquoise set in floral filigree on the front,” Thranduil forced himself to continue, looking down to avoid the sympathy and sorrow that he knew would be present in his mentors’ eyes, however well they might attempt to hide it, knowing Thranduil’s preference not to dwell on the matter. 

“No, my elfling, I am sorry to say that I did not,” Rochendil answered compassionately, “I do not believe that Rochirion did either. Muindor?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Rochirion confirmed, “Perhaps Herdir did, though.” 

“Yes, Herdir,” Rochendil agreed, “Or, even more likely, your cousin Celeborn.” 

“Herdir is back home in the Wood, and . . . I’d rather not ask cousin Celeborn just yet,” Thranduil replied carefully. 

“May I ask why?” Rochendil said, beginning to look uneasy. 

“I’d rather not say just yet,” Thranduil hedged. 

Rochendil sighed, “Thranduil, elfling-mine, you’re worrying me.” 

“It’s fine, ‘Chendil. Really,” Thranduil assured his general and mentor, “Any worrying that’s being done over this particular matter is about two ages too late. But I’d rather not hurt anyone’s feelings if I’m wrong. Thank you for answering my question about the jeweler. Now, did either of you know Elured and Elurin Diorchil?” 

Although Thranduil could tell that he’d surprised them again, Rochendil swiftly rallied to answer, “I . . . saw them, from time to time, Thranduil. But we were only junior officers then, and most often stationed either on our lord’s lands, or patrolling the border. I wasn’t a companion of King Dior’s the way that I was later privileged to become a companion of your father’s. I didn’t have the honor of knowing his elflings as I later came to know you.”

Thranduil nodded his understanding of that, then continued, “You must have seen them, though. What did they look like? Prince Elured and Prince Elurin?” 

Rochendil sighed in exasperation, then adopted a studiedly patient expression as he answered, “In coloring, they resembled their nephew, your cousin Elrond. They both had Dior’s and Luthien’s dark hair and gray eyes, although their features were more delicate and typically elven than Elrond’s.” 

“And my cousin Nimloth?” Thranduil inquired, “Did they resemble her, in any way?” 

Rochendil smiled bittersweetly, “I was told by your father and your cousin Celeborn that Elured had Nimloth’s sense of humor.” 

That caused Thranduil to take a soft, reminiscent breath, “Ada and cousin Celeborn used to say that of me, as well.” The King shook his head to dispel the fond memory, made in part a sad one by the long ago loss of his father, then asked, “And what of Elurin?” 

“It seemed to me that he was shyer than Elured,” Rochendil answered thoughtfully, “but in truth I cannot even remember exactly what made me think so.” 

“Were they good at playing hide and seek?” Thranduil queried thoughtfully. 

Visibly taken aback although not appearing offended, Rochendil commented, “What an odd question. Thranduil, my dear elfling, how would I know that?” 

“They were,” Rochirion supplied, seemingly surprised to be able to answer Thranduil’s question, “They were very good at hide and seek, or rather hiding, at the least. When they both disappeared and would not answer their nursemaids’ and tutors’ calls to come out, King Dior himself had to leave his duties to find them. They had to turn all of Menegroth upside down. You might not remember, muindor,” Rochirion remarked to his twin, “you were away on patrol, as I recall. But I was there, assigned to the palace perimeter. King Dior’s castellan had hundreds of elves scouring all of Menegroth, and it wasn’t until Dior himself went to look that he found his twin elflings, in one of the lake caverns not far outside the palace gates. I’d walked past there myself a dozen times, and I never saw them. Nor did anyone else.” 

“Poor elflings,” remarked Rochendil sadly, “I’ve always believed that Celegorm Feanorion and his servants killed them.” 

“Mmm,” said Thranduil noncommittally. That was what his father Oropher had believed as well. Only now, two ages later, was Thranduil in possession of knowledge that suggested that Dior and Nimloth’s sons might have lived. 

Thranduil dismissed Rochendil and Rochirion with his thanks, just before Tauriel arrived. Linwe remained with Thranduil, as Fileg had not yet returned. 

“Hello, hello, your Grace, Captain Linwe,” Tauriel greeted, as she entered with a sunny smile on her pink-cheeked face. The Imladrin horse-mistress’s curly strawberry blond hair was bound back in a practical braid, and her amber eyes sparkled with good humor. She brought with her into Thranduil’s guest apartments the smell of green growing things and sweaty horses. 

“Hello, Rose Red,” Thranduil greeted her with a smile of his own, “How fare your equine friends?” 

“They are pleased with their new pasture amongst the Sixth Level gardens,” Tauriel reported happily, “Although they like even better those days during which we take them out onto the Pelennor and beyond to Ithilien. Or up onto the paths on Mount Mindolluin. Belan was particularly grateful to you and Legolas for taking him to the alpine glade with the butterfly flowers, or at least so said the iridescent petal dust all over his nose!” 

“He seemed quite pleased with it at the time, yes,” Thranduil agreed, “although it is not Belan’s past I wish to speak of, but your own, if you are willing. You need not, if doing so would make you at all unhappy.” 

“My past?” Tauriel asked, appearing to Thranduil willing but baffled. 

“Yes, mellon nin. When you were a small elfling in the Greenwood, before you lost your parents and your grandparents, do you ever remember your grandfather Nallos and your grandmother Serenwen discussing Eldun, the Witch of the Northern Woods?” 

“I . . . don’t know,” Tauriel answered at first, her amber eyes thoughtful rather than sad. Then she nodded decisively, “No, wait, I do. They had an argument about someone called Eldun, once. He was Theli’s grandda, right? The unpleasant one.” 

“He was, yes. Or rather, is. He just sailed,” Thranduil explained. 

“No loss to Theli, I’d think,” said Tauriel with customary frankness, “But I do remember my Gran and Grandda talking about him. I was with my Mama, we were coming back from shopping with a pie for Gran and Grandda when we heard their voices from the open windows of their cottage. Mama stopped the both of us, and said to be quiet, so I was.” 

Thranduil poured Tauriel a mug of iced tea from the sideboard, and motioned for her to continue. 

“Gran Serenwen told Grandda Nallos that they should tell Theli the truth, about something. I don’t know what, I didn’t overhear all of that first part,” Tauriel reported as she accepted the beverage, “Grandda Nallos said no, because Theli was already well-settled, and didn’t need to know. Gran Serenwen said that he wasn’t as grown up as he liked to think, that Theli wasn’t, I mean, and that he needed a family still. Grandda Nallos said that they owed Eldun their silence, and Gran Serenwen said that the present was more important than the past.”

Tauriel favored Thranduil with a bitter-sweet smile, “That was when Gran Serenwen noticed Mama and me eavesdropping, and told Mama that wasn’t good manners. Mama said that she wanted to talk to Gran and Grandda more about it later, but I don’t know as she ever did. The orcs came a week later, and . . . you know the rest.” 

“I do, Rose Red, and I’m sorry to bring back such terrible memories for you,” Thranduil said gently. 

“No, don’t apologize, Thranduil,” Tauriel firmly insisted, “Gran Serenwen was right. She usually was. The present is more important than the past. What truth did Grandda Nallos know, that he should have told?” 

“I don’t know, not for certain,” Thranduil answered honestly, “But I promise that I will let you know when I can.” 

“Please do. Theli has always been kind to me. I’d like to help, if I can.” 

“You’ve already helped a great deal, Tauriel,” Thranduil assured her. 

After Tauriel left, Thranduil raised an eyebrow at Linwe. 

His gwador sighed, but gave a reluctant nod of agreement. Even he had to agree that Thranduil’s theory seemed even more likely. Bregalen’s vague hints had suggested it, and Tauriel’s memories supported it, as did Rochendil’s and Rochirion’s. Linwe knew better than most that Theli had a way about him of going unseen when he wished to, as Theli had at one time led scouting forays for Linwe’s unit. 

Fileg returned shortly after with both Glorfindel and Erestor. Thranduil’s cousin Elrond had departed Middle Earth with the other ring bearers, but Elrond’s chiefest retainers had stayed behind, to continue to serve and protect Elrond’s remaining four children. 

Glorfindel was one of the tallest elves Thranduil had ever met, with broad shoulders, famous golden hair, and piercing cobalt-blue eyes. Erestor was slight and elegant, of middling height for an elf, with raven hair and exotic coffee colored eyes. It was difficult to conceive of two elves who could look as opposite from one another, and yet they were the closest of friends. Also, Glorfindel was Erestor’s grandfather, a fact that was not common knowledge. Although Thranduil had noticed that the two had ceased to be so careful about hiding their relationship since the destruction of the Ring. With Sauron no longer a factor, undoubtedly Glorfindel felt less worried about Erestor being targeted for harm just for being the Balrog-Slayer’s grandson. 

“What can we do for you today, student-mine?” Glorfindel asked Thranduil bluntly, but not without affection, “Or is this a formal visit, and the question what Imladris can do for the Wood of the Green Leaves?” 

“If it is the latter, Thranduil mellon-nin,” Erestor amended with a friendly smile, “Then it may be a question for young twin lords.” 

“Not Elrohir, in particular?” Thranduil asked, as he had been idly wondering how the twins were dividing authority, Elrohir having been Elrond’s heir but Elladan born only nine minutes after his twin. 

The Balrog-Slayer rolled his eyes, and Erestor’s smile attained a fixed appearance. 

“They are attempting to entirely share the honor,” Glorfindel explained after a moment, “It is proving to be an interesting time for the elves of Imladris, as I’m sure you can imagine.” 

“I’m not sure I can,” Thranduil said, trying to suppress a grin, and making a mental note to ask his current ambassador to Imladris to provide him with a play-by-play on the Elrondion twins’ latest shenanigans. It would prove an entertaining read, if nothing else. Although the perspective offered by the two elves in front of him might be even more interesting, “I don’t suppose that you’d care to elaborate?” 

“No, Thranduil, I don’t suppose that we would,” Glorfindel answered forbiddingly, but Thranduil knew him well enough to know that he was at least a little bit amused. 

“Very well,” Thranduil gamely conceded, “I’m hoping that you could help me with something else. Please, take your ease. It is not a formal matter, although it may be one with formal implications for your twin lords’ settlement, as well as their grandfather’s, and my own.” 

“That sounds intriguing,” Erestor said pleasantly, his coffee-colored eyes shining with interest. 

Thranduil waited until the two elves had taken a seat on either side of him before opening Theli’s dirt-stained metal box. 

“Beautiful workmanship,” commented Erestor when he saw the contents, but it was Glorfindel’s response which had arrested Thranduil’s attention. 

The Balrog-Slayer gasped, and reached out to pick up the first of the bejeweled gold chains with infinite care. 

“Anatar?” Erestor asked, concerned. 

Glorfindel turned the chain over, his gaze fixed on the back of the purple sapphire, the largest gem at the bottom of the chain.

“Do you see this, Thranduil, Erestor?” the Balrog-Slayer asked, pointing to a small mark on the back of the gold setting of the stone, a stylized crane.

“Yes. Do you recognize it?” Thranduil asked, although he assumed that the answer was a yes. 

“It is the maker’s mark of Master Smith Ninquitaro, son of Maltathar. He was jeweler to my lord Turgon, the King of Gondolin. And a friend of mine.” 

Erestor placed a gentle hand on his grandfather’s arm, as if to recall Glorfindel to the present. 

The tall warrior took a shuddering breath, and then continued, “I think that I recognize these particular chains. Ninquitaro and Turgon consulted with my wife and Princess Idril on what gems they should be set with. I didn’t pay that much attention at the time – the subjects of jewelry and gem meanings didn’t interest me. But the chains were to be a gift from Gondolin to the newly born princes Elured and Elurin of Doriath, that I do remember.” 

Still holding the chain, Glorfindel raised his eyes to meet Thranduil’s gaze, then said, “It explains a great deal that they have reappeared in the custody of Elrond’s former apprentice Ecthelion.” 

Since Glorfindel had been present in his common room earlier that day when Theli swept in with the mysterious box looking for a priest to make sure it wasn’t cursed, Thranduil wasn’t surprised that he’d reached that conclusion. But he did want to know, “Why do you say so?” 

Glorfindel huffed, a sound that seemed half a laugh and half a sigh, “You know very well why, student- mine, but I’ll say it aloud if you wish.” 

“As I’m trying not to let my suspicions – and my wishes - dictate my conclusions, that would be helpful, yes,” Thranduil replied wryly. 

“Very well,” Glorfindel acknowledged, finally placing the chain back on its bed of gauze, “Elrond, his children, Theli, Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil all share the same ‘fuzzy’ aura. Elwing has it, too. I didn’t anything think of it – I’d not thought to meet another of Luthien’s descendants on this side of the sea.” 

“And they all also share in ‘the Elrond effect,’ as you have bemoaned before, Anatar,” Erestor pointed out, “When they don’t want to be found, it is difficult to find them. In particular if it was Elrond, Theli, and Elladan set on some healing project together, the three of them together, it was almost impossible to find them before they decided to surface for air.” 

“Aye, it was,” Glorfindel agreed, with a sardonic smile, “I bent Elrond’s ear about that, too. For all the good it did.” 

“A certain stubbornness can also be noted as a common characteristic of all of those elves,” Fileg pointed out mischievously, “Or at least I have always found it so.” 

“Oh, as if my mother’s family isn’t equally stubborn,” Thranduil retorted. 

Erestor, meanwhile, had picked up the rings. With a sad sigh, he handed them to his grandfather. 

Glorfindel examined then, and then shook his head, “I can barely read ancient Iathrim, but the names are clear enough,” he looked up to meet Thranduil’s eyes again, “What more do you need to know?” 

“I don’t think that there is any more to learn,” Thranduil replied pensively, “At least not that anyone living, on this side of the sea, can tell us. The box was left to Theli by his grandfather Eldun, and . . .” 

“Oh, him,” Glorfindel said derogatorily. 

“Yes,” agreed Thranduil. He then proceeded to explain what else he’d learned in the course of the past few hours. 

After Thranduil had finished his story, Glorfindel sighed heavily, “And Elrond left only six years ago. It would have meant so much to him, to have known this. Theli was one of his favorite protegees, and Elrond sometimes worried about his lack of family, and how alone he seemed at times, despite his many friends and several mentors.” 

“Well, provided that Theli doesn’t get himself killed first,” which Thranduil would try his best to prevent, “Elrond will see him again after he sails. And we can send word of this,” Thranduil pointed out. 

“Yes, but it’s not the same,” Glorfindel countered, “Although it is the best that we can do. I assume that you wish to tell Theli of this first, Thranduil?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then we will keep our silence until after you have done so.” 

“But please, for Celeborn’s sake, do so soon,” the tender-hearted Erestor urged. 

“Tonight,” Thranduil promised. 

It was a promise he intended to keep, although how exactly he was supposed to tell Theli that almost everything the younger elf had known about his grandfather’s past had been a lie, Thranduil was not sure. 

Theli returned to the common room of Thranduil’s apartments, freshly bathed and smelling faintly of mint, before Thranduil had fully worked that out. 

“Thank you for washing, pest, considering your last activities, which we will not discuss before dinner,” Thranduil greeted. 

“I always bathe after dissections, if I can,” Theli promised. 

“A sound policy,” Thranduil recognized, then asked, “Do you want to know the provenance of what your grandfather left you before dinner, or after? I think I can hear your stomach grumbling from here.” Theli was well known for his healthy appetite. 

“Prove-what?” Theli asked, head tilted curiously. 

“Provenance,” Thranduil repeated patiently, “It means the history of something, where it came from.” 

“Oh. Umm, that first then. I was really surprised that Grandda left me anything, let alone jewelry. He wasn’t much of one for jewelry, especially not fancy stuff like this.” 

Thranduil waved Theli over to his side, then opened the box again. Picking up the ring with the star sapphire, Thranduil turned it so that Theli could see the inscription. 

“Can you read this?” 

Theli looked at it searchingly, then shook his head. 

“It is written in old Iathrim, the script that my father grew up writing, in his great uncle Elu Thingol’s court at Menegroth in Doriath,” Thranduil explained. 

“Doriath, Thranduil? Are you sure?” Theli asked dubiously, “I know that some of the wood elf villages were friends and allies of your people’s King in Doriath. Maybe my grandfather’s village was one of them?” 

“Mellon-nin, I’m near certain that your grandfather wasn’t born a wood-elf,” Thranduil informed him compassionately. 

“But he said that he was,” Theli insisted, “Whenever the rumors that he and great-uncle Elboron had been foundlings came up, he always angrily said that they were nonsense.” 

“There were rumors that they had been foundlings? Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Thranduil asked, with some exasperation. 

“I didn’t think of it. Besides, Grandda said . . .” 

“Theli, he lied to you.” 

“But, why would he do that?” 

Thranduil sighed, and tried a different tact, “Do you know the story of the lost princes Elured and Elurin, the sons of Dior and Nimloth?” 

“Elu-who?” 

As calmly as he could, Thranduil demanded, “How have you spent over 3,000 years in the Greenwood without hearing the story of the Fall of Doriath?” 

“I know the story,” Theli countered, a little defensively, “My cousin Elissed told it to me when I was little, the way he’d heard it from his Da Elboron. How the sons of Feanor attacked Doriath in force, killing everyone they could find. And how the baby Princess Elwing was carried to safety by her nursemaid, along with the Similar.” 

“Silmaril,” Thranduil corrected irritably, “And I have to assume that your great-uncle Elboron didn’t bother mentioning Elwing’s older brothers Elured and Elurin because, to him, and to your grandfather Eldun, they weren’t lost at all. They knew exactly where the twin princes were.” 

Theli, who was under-educated in certain respects but far from stupid, tilted his head thoughtfully, then asked, “You think that my great-uncle and Grandda were them?” 

“I think so, Theli, yes. And Glorfindel and Erestor think so, too,” Thranduil added. After explaining what Glorfindel had told him of the gold chains to Theli, Thranduil concluded, “Being Dior’s great-grandsons would explain a lot about you, and your cousins.” 

Theli looked down at the chains and rings. His normally animated face oddly expressionless, he toyed with the star-sapphire ring for a few moments, before looking up at Thranduil. 

“I want that to be true,” Theli said earnestly, “Because I love you, and Elrond, and his sons, and I’d like very much to be your cousin. But wanting it to be true doesn’t make it true.” 

“Thank you, Theli. You’re not the worst elf in Middle Earth who could end up being my long-lost cousin,” Thranduil said with wry affection, “And teaching you how to dress and behave like a proper royal lord will give me an excellent excuse to delegate various peace-time duties I dislike to other elves.” 

“But, Thranduil, how do you know . . .” 

“Cousin-mine, I know.” 

Thranduil’s sapphire blue eyes met Theli’s midnight blue gaze and held. 

Thranduil, being his mother’s son, had more of the mental gift of mind speech than most elves of his age. And his connection to his kin was generally strong. With a kinsman he’d known for over an age, it was even more so, even if they had only just learned that they were related. So Thranduil didn’t bother to say aloud the reasons why he was sure, why this discovery made the suddenness of their friendship and their occasional complete understanding of one another’s thoughts and actions just make sense. 

Theli fumbled the connection at first. Not surprising, as Thranduil hadn’t ever tried to speak with him this way before. Hesitantly at first, then with greater confidence as the contact didn’t hurt – why would it hurt? – Theli opened his mind to Thranduil’s, and listened. 

“Oh,” said the healer, half in wonder, half in joy, “You are sure, then.” 

“You wouldn’t be able to hear me so plainly, were it not so.” 

Theli smiled, shyly but delightedly, “I suppose not. And I’m glad. That I’m not the worst elf you could end up being related to, I mean. High praise, that,” he teased. 

“I’m glad that you realize that,” Thranduil said drolly, uncomfortable with moments of high emotion and pleased that Theli understood that, “Now, come join me for dinner. And tell me what you have been up to, here and in Ithilien.” 

Thranduil asked partly because he was interested, but also because he needed to know more of what Theli had been doing in order to decide whether it would be best to allow him to stay in Ithilien, with tutors selected by Thranduil with help from Celeborn to help him learn how to behave in a manner befitting a royal lord. Or whether it would be better to bring Theli back to the Greenwood, and work on educating him there, in which case re-staffing for Ithilien-en-Edhil would have to be considered. Legolas valued Theli, which would make the matter a challenging question in any case, even if Theli stuck to one job at a time, which he generally didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave a review if you enjoyed the chapter and are so inclined. With longer stories it's hard to know whether people are still reading if they don't comment, since the kudos button only works once. Thank you for reading either way!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Theli and his cousins Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil are descendants of the lost princes Elured and Elurin Diorchil of Doriath. Thranduil tries to determine what that discovery means, at least for him and Theli.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil and Master Rochirion belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” -  
> ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
> 
> “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” - George Eliot
> 
>  
> 
> End of Chapter 16 Excerpt: 
> 
> “‘Now, [Theli,] come join me for dinner. And tell me what you have been up to, here and in Ithilien.’ 
> 
> Thranduil asked partly because he was interested, but also because he needed to know more of what Theli had been doing in order to decide whether it would be best to allow him to stay in Ithilien, with tutors selected by Thranduil with help from Celeborn to help him learn how to behave in a manner befitting a royal lord. Or whether it would be better to bring Theli back to the Greenwood, and work on educating him there, in which case re-staffing for Ithilien-en-Edhil would have to be considered. Legolas valued Theli, which would make the matter a challenging question in any case, even if Theli stuck to one job at a time, which he generally didn’t.”

Nor was now any exception. As they ate, Theli chattered cheerfully about his work as the second most senior healer in Ithilien-en-Edhil and a member of the settlement’s governing council. Thranduil, a very busy elf himself, didn’t find such a schedule overwhelming, but he realized that it would be enough to keep any three normal elves occupied. 

“But of course, since Eowyn was poisoned, Legolas has seconded me to her and Faramir, and their household,” Theli reminded Thranduil. 

“But she is hale and healthy now, our White Lady of Ithilien, is she not?” Thranduil queried intently. He was very fond of Eowyn. 

“She is,” Theli affirmed certainly, “And their youngest babe Mithiriel is a year old, and finally seems to have gotten past the frequent ailments that tormented her lungs as an infant. So I expect that I’ll be returning to Ithilien-en-Edhil with Legolas, whenever this visit ends.” 

“Mmm,” Thranduil commented neutrally. He considered letting that expectation stand for the moment, then decided that he might as well ask, “And if I were to have you return with us to the Greenwood instead, whom would you select to take your place in Ithilien?” 

“Take . . . my place?” Theli asked in a tone which blended curiosity, apprehensiveness, and interest, “Why? Have I done something wrong?”

“No, mellon-nin,” Thranduil assured him, his voice particularly kind in response to the distressed expression in Theli’s eyes, “But I do have my reasons. Answer the question.” 

“I . . . see. Hmm,” Theli paused pensively, then said, “Well, to start, Master Healer Remdir will need two new healers, a senior surgeon and an herbal healer. Maybe Healer Tumben for the first, and Healer Crisdol for the second?” 

“Isn’t Crisdol the idiot who insulted the Dale Lord Girion’s wife?” 

“Yes, but he’s gotten much better since then.” 

“You would know that better than I, I suppose. Are you sure that Remdir will really need two new healers? You’re only one elf, and they’ve done mostly without you in Ithilien-en-Edhil since Eowyn was poisoned.” 

Theli made a face, “Well, yes, but Remdir’s been complaining about it a lot. He asked Master Nestorion and Elder Nestaeth for two more healers, and they sent one, but then that fellow decided to sail. It’s not just our elven settlement that Legolas’ healers are serving, you see. It’s the surrounding human villages, as well.” 

“Hmm. And what about Legolas? Will he willingly see a mind healer other than you?” 

If the answer to that question was ‘no,’ then Theli would simply have to stay in Ithilien-en-Edhil, as unideal as that situation was beginning to seem from Thranduil’s perspective. Turning Theli into a respectable member of Thranduil’s family would require a lot of work, but it was work that Thranduil strangely found himself not wanting to delegate. Perhaps it was just that life for Thranduil in the Greenwood had become a little too routine in the wake of the Ring’s destruction and his sons’ relocation. Theli was many things, but he was rarely ever boring. 

“Legolas will speak honestly and intently with Healer Ronir, starting about six months ago,” Theli reported with evident relief, “That’s why Master Healer Nestorion and I picked Ronir, for Ithilien-en-Edhil, hoping that he would.” 

Theli sighed, and then added, “I’d do anything for Legolas, but I’m too close to him to really be a good primary mind healer for him.” 

“So you say,” Thranduil recognized, “But I’m more of the philosophy that a close personal friendship enhances the relationship between a mind healer and their patient.” 

“I know that you are, Thranduil,” Theli conceded, with a lopsided smile, “Master Nestorion thinks so, too, and so did Master Elrond. But Master Healer Remdir and Master Healer Helwanis think that it’s easier for a patient to work on mind health with someone whom they don’t have a strong relationship with outside of that specific purpose. I’m between the two positions, I suppose. There’s a place for good friends and life-long healers in mind health, but there’s a place for a more neutral healer, too. I think that’s what Legolas needs now. He likes Healer Ronir very much, and respects him. But if Healer Ronir’s heart aches because Legolas is sad, Legolas doesn’t know him well enough to tell. And Legolas is so tender-hearted and perceptive that he does notice, with most of us. And that makes him try to hide that he is hurting, so as not to burden us.” 

“Well, that’s true enough,” Thranduil conceded with a sigh of his own. It was one of his least favorite of Legolas’ tendencies, at the same time that he loved his youngest son in part for his kind heart and insight. 

More cheerfully, Thranduil asked, “Isn’t Healer Ronir the son of my old friend, Adan?” 

“He is,” Theli confirmed, “And Ronir has told me that he still remembers the puppy you brought him as a twelfth begetting day gift when you visited his father Adan in Meordanas when Ronir was an elfling. Ronir’s daughter is one of your granddaughter Calenwen’s playmates, and she has a many-times great granddaughter of the puppy you gave Ronir as her own companion.” 

“Ah, yes,” Thranduil recalled fondly, “The puppy I gave to Adan’s son was a pup from my hound Bruidal’s last litter. She was a fine dog, albeit clumsy, And that despite her having had a great-grandparent who was a wolf!”

Regarding Thranduil curiously, Theli asked, “How did you end up with a wolf pup as a pet, Thranduil? I’ve wondered before, but everyone has always told me that it is a long story and to ask you, and there’s never been a good time.” 

“It’s a long story, cousin. And I will tell it to you, someday. But for now, who else do you think that will Legolas need, to replace you in Ithilien-en-Edhil?” 

“Um,” Theli said, thinking again, “Someone from Elder Luthavar’s or Lady Lothgail’s staff, or at least someone who likes humans, speaks fluent Westron, and has a good grasp on numbers. Even after I was based at Emyn Arnen and then here in Minas Tirith, I still do a fair bit of the trade negotiating with Faramir and Eowyn’s castellan Cellaras, and with the outlying villages of Ithilien and the Poros.” 

“And what of the sailmasters?” Thranduil inquired, “Legolas and Thalion tell me that you’ve been facilitating the communication between our experienced river boat builders in Ithilien-en-Edhil and the consultants on loan from Faramir’s Dol Amroth kin. Enough of our folk are sailing to the West now that I don’t want to do anything to slow the construction of the larger ocean-going vessels in Ithilien-en-Edhil. 

“Yes, I have been helping with that, but a lot of it is done, or well on the way. Our shipwrights know what they are doing now, and they’ve mostly become friends with the Dol Amroth consultants. It’s become more of a collaborative effort between those two groups now.” 

“Good to hear. However, you also assist Lieutenant Maindor with the horses, do you not?” 

“No, just with the breeding program, really,” Theli corrected, “The forest-and-healer horse breeding project that Maindor, Eowyn and Captain Anborn are focused on.” 

“Ah.” Thranduil thought about asking Theli for his thoughts on whether Thranduil should buy the stallion Belan from their mutual cousin Elrohir, for a secondary riding mount and to add to Thranduil’s own breeding program, but decided against it. There would be time for that later. 

Instead, he asked, “What would you think, Theli, of coming home?” 

Theli took a deep breath and thought for a few moments. Then he said, with a mixture of longing and reluctance, “I’d be torn. On the one hand, I love Legolas and Thalion, and I want to help them. I like Ithilien, and I love Faramir and his family. But I also miss home, and everyone at home,” Theli confessed, “and I want to be involved in healing the Wood, and in building Emyn Estel in the Dark Mountains.” 

“I see,” Thranduil accepted, pleased that if he did decide to order Theli to return to the Greenwood, he would be facing only limited resistance. Theli could be very stubborn when he was set against something. 

“Umm, Thranduil, why do you ask? About my coming back to the Greenwood, and who would need to replace me? Because I'm your cousin now, do I need to do, or be . . .” Theli put down his fork, and then lifted his hand in the human gesture for more. 

Thranduil sighed, gathering his patience, “First off, you need to stop making that gesture. It doesn’t translate amongst elves.” 

“We’re using it in Ithilien-en-Edhil . . .” 

“I need to teach you how to behave such that you can pass unexceptionably as a royal lord in elven society, Ecthelion.” 

And did it ever amaze and appall Thranduil that such a sentence had just come out of his mouth! His parents would be agape with astonishment themselves, were they still on Middle Earth. For the young Thranduil, learning how to meet the standards of royal behavior had been challenging in many ways. He knew it would be challenging for his new-found cousin Theli, as well. Theli was much older than Thranduil had been, which the King thought would make such lessons easier in some ways and harder in others. 

Thranduil didn’t think that he could do as fine a job of teaching Theli as his father and mother and his whole family had done for him, but he still wanted to help Theli as much as he could. 

If Nallos Canyavasion hadn’t kept his stupid mouth shut, Thranduil thought with some real anger, then Thranduil, as well as Oropher and Celeborn, would have known of Theli, Emlyn, and Emlyn’s sons since the middle of the War of the Last Alliance, if not even before then. That might have made a great deal of difference in Theli’s life. It wasn’t Thranduil’s fault, but he still felt a need to make up for lost time. 

Thranduil also needed to persuade Theli to trust him more. Theli was absolutely loyal. In fact, he possessed an absolute dedication to Thranduil and his family which touched, honored, and appalled Thranduil all at the once. But Theli had his own way of seeing what must be done. And Thranduil needed to convince him to stop doing stupidly reckless things without at least informing Thranduil ahead of time. 

Thranduil didn’t particularly like playing the wise elder elf, but he also didn’t want his long-time friend and new-found cousin to die doing something foolish. Thranduil was a few centuries older than Theli, at the least. So, in a manner of speaking, Theli, as Thranduil’s younger cousin, was now Thranduil’s responsibility. And if Theli ever again did something so foolish as going back to a place where he’d been banished from on pain of death, or risking death by admitting to a treason he hadn’t committed (even if he did so for the good of one of Thranduil’s beloved children) then Thranduil was willing to teach his new-found cousin to be more careful with his own skin. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary. To Thranduil’s best knowledge, Theli hadn’t done anything that foolish since helping Legolas commit treason concerning the incident with the dragon Smaug. 

“Oh. Um, I see,” Theli said, then sighed wistfully, “I want to do my part, Thranduil. And I promise to do my best to learn whatever you want me to learn. But I’m afraid that I’m not going to be very good at it. I’m not very good at lord-stuff, you know.” 

“I appreciate that, cousin,” Thranduil, taking care to keep his tone patient and heartening in part because he knew that Theli did try, and in part because Thranduil admired on some level that Theli had just accepted this particular unpleasant (to Theli) dimension of being Thranduil’s cousin willingly and without any real resentment, “But you’ve never before had the opportunity to focus solely on improving yourself. Perhaps it will make a difference.” 

“I can’t still be a healer too?” Theli queried, appearing deeply troubled by the mere possibility. 

“Of course you can, Theli,” Thranduil encouraged, “Elrond did both, although I’m sure that his parents and then Lord Cirdan taught him everything he needed to know as a scion of Doriath and Gondolin from his earliest youth.” 

Theli, on the other hand, didn’t even know to use his salad fork first. Otherwise, his table manners were neat enough, which Thranduil supposed he should consider a blessing. Which it was, at least as compared to Theli’s abysmal grasp of any part of history that he hadn’t lived through himself. 

After nodding cautiously, Theli’s expression turned almost melancholy as he warned Thranduil, “It may not be as easy as you think for me to learn . . . whatever it is you want me to. I really have tried to learn history and better grammar and dressing well and all of those things. I realize that it reflects poorly on the healers as a group, and you as my King, when I look stupid or foolish. And I do care about that, really I do. But with things like dressing up, I just get busy and forget. And with the history and the grammar . . . it’s like I can only hold so much in my head. And all the space is taken up by healing lore and whatever I actually need on a day-to-day basis.” 

“Well, first off, we don’t call it ‘dressing up,’” Thranduil informed his erstwhile cousin with wry fondness, “’Dressing up’ is what little female elflings do when they play at being grown ladies. We call it ‘dressing well.’ And I’m sure that you can do better this time than you have in the past. For the writing, history, arithmetic and deportment, we’ll get you a tutor. Or more than one of them, if necessary.” 

“That seems like a lot of bother . . .” 

“You let me worry about that, Theli,” Thranduil instructed brusquely but not unkindly, “You just worry about learning what, and when, I ask.” 

Theil took a deep breath, “I will, I really will, Thranduil. But it might be harder than you think. Why do you think I’ve never become a Master Healer?” 

Thranduil blinked in surprise, “I always assumed that you were too busy also learning to be a soldier. I know that Nestorion complained of that, regarding you, from time to time.” 

In retrospect, given how often and deeply Theli had suffered from battle sickness, Thranduil rather regretted encouraging the younger elf in his military ambitions. However, Theli was stubborn, and he had been determined to do his part as a warrior, with Thranduil’s support or without it. 

Shaking his head sadly, Theli explained, “I’ve taken the practical and written examinations for mastery twelve different times, Thranduil. I passed the practical, all twelve times. But I failed the written exam, every time. I just can’t get through all the reading and writing in the time allowed. Elrond coaxed me into letting him read the questions and write down the answers as I said them to him, and that way I passed. But I wasn’t willing to let him make an exception to how you are supposed to take the test, just for me. I respect master healers too much for me to ask them to cheapen the rank just so that I can have it.” 

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry, Theli.” 

Theli shrugged, which made Thranduil wince, and resolve to train that gesture out of his cousin as soon as possible. 

Then the healer grinned cheekily, and said, “Don’t be sorry, Thranduil, really. I’ve not given up on my mastery yet.” 

“Good for you,” Thranduil admired, with a reluctant smile. There was something about Theli’s insouciant, undaunted determination and optimism that Thranduil found amusing, and worthy of appreciation. He always had. Now knowing of this challenge that his friend and new-found cousin faced, Thranduil resolved to be sure that Theli had help improving his reading and writing so that he could finally reach his goal of becoming a master healer. 

Although it did occur to Thranduil to ask, “How can you not read and write well enough to pass a test? I’ve read the reports you’ve written as my children’s healer, and as a Sergeant. They weren’t bad.” The thinking behind them had actually been good. Thorough, and often-times creative, even if the word choice had sometimes been lacking. But Theli’s various reports had always been at least adequate. 

“A twelve hour test,” Theli pointed out ruefully, “And of course I can do the reports required of a healer and a warrior. After all, what’s the first thing that you learn to do, with both of those kind of reports?” 

“How to be expedient,” Thranduil said, now nodding in understanding. 

“Right. Shortness. Saying a lot without using a lot of words or taking a lot of time to write it. Sadly, no one ever asked for expediency from whoever writes those blasted mastery examinations.” 

Thranduil laughed, “I have a forest full of important elves who seem to need the same lesson in expediency of writing. In time, maybe you’ll be able to help me wade through all they write to me.” 

Theli visibly winced, but he rallied in order to offer gamely, “I’ll try.” 

“I know,” Thranduil replied with quite confidence, pleased and even a little proud.

Theli smiled back, and for a few moments, Thranduil let the hopeful, peaceful silence reign. The King reflected that it was . . . pleasant, having Theli as company for dinner. Thranduil didn’t know as he’d ever planned on sharing a meal just with the healer alone before, although they’d ended up doing so a number of times. After most of which, Thranduil had felt markedly better than he had at the beginning. He’d have to keep that in mind. 

And he might as well ask, “Tell me what you think of Elrohir’s young stallion Belan. I’m thinking about buying him for myself, or for Thalion. Or even for his wife, Rian.” 

“Hmm, for you or Thalion, sure,” Theli answered with ready cheer, “Belan is powerful, and he has the curiosity, strength and intelligence to learn how to do everything that a good war horse needs to know. But I don’t think he’d be the best choice for Rian. He doesn’t have the patience to learn how to do everything a healer’s horse needs to do, and she is just as serious about training to be a healer in between helping to run Ithlien-en-Edhil as Eowyn is.” 

“Do you have an idea as to a beast who might suit her better? I know that Thalion and I would like to see her better mounted.” 

“Have you asked Master Rochirion?” 

“Right now I’m asking you.” 

“Fair enough. What about one of Tinnuroch’s line? She had a very sweet disposition and lots of patience, but a lot of strength and intelligence too.” 

“A fine thought. Tinnuroch’s great-granddaughter Gwedal is due to foal this fall. Or what about . . .” 

Talk of horses kept them busy through the rest of dinner and into dessert. Then Thranduil collected Theli and the box of heirlooms, in preparation to take them both in the direction of the King’s Long Gallery. The dinner hosted by Aragorn was over, but the human King’s and Arwen’s family and friends were gathered in the Long Gallery for after-dinner conversation. Many of the Greenwood, Imladrin, and Lorien elves were amongst them. The King of the Greenwood was sure that all assembled would be interested in the contents of Theli’s box. In fact, Thranduil was very much looking forward to seeing how happy this revelation would make his cousin Celeborn. 

In contrast to Theli’s earlier wary handling of the box, as if it might be the hiding place of live, poisonous snakes, Theli now carried the casket as if it contained something precious. Thranduil felt that such care was appropriate, in fact he had to hide a smile. 

Theli paused just before they reached the door into the hallway of the King’s House. 

“Thranduil,” he asked warily, “Do you think that we could maybe see if Lord Celeborn is there, first, before going in?” 

“Theli, if you think that you’re going to be able to continue to avoid Celeborn once he knows that he’s your great-uncle, then you’re crazy,” Thranduil informed his new-found cousin. 

The King knew that Theli had been taking great pains to avoid being in Celeborn’s company for quite some time, and that Celeborn had been seeking Theli’s company to ask him questions for a near equal amount of time. When Thranduil had asked Theli why that was, Theli had answered that Thranduil didn’t want to know, and that Theli didn’t want Thranduil to know. Busy in the immediate wake of the end of the Ring War, and with Theli not really being his responsibility, Thranduil had let it go at that. 

Theli sighed anxiously, “But Thranduil, trust me, the evening will go a lot more smoothly if he at least doesn’t have the chance to ask me too many questions.” 

Thranduil took a firm hold of his cousin’s shoulder, “Theli, why ever it is that you’ve been avoiding cousin Celeborn, or whatever it is you’ve done, you’d better be ready to make your explanations and apologies and take your just desserts, whatever they are.” 

The healer took a deep breath, and nodded, but it was the quickly concealed flash of real fear in his eyes that concerned and unsettled Thranduil enough for him to add, “Do be calm, Pest. Celeborn wants to speak with you, and I’m sure that he’ll lecture you if you’ve earned it,” which Theli likely had, given that he’d been hiding from this conversation for the better part of a yen, “but he would never hurt you.” 

“No, I know, Celeborn isn’t a cruel elf,” Theli agreed, “He’s a kind one. I’m afraid of disappointing him again more than anything, although that’s practically a given. I seem to disappoint him by breathing. I thought that I was doing better after . . . after the Watchful Peace . . .” when Thranduil had exiled Theli to Lothlorien for disagreeing with him, and Theli had ended up captured by orcs protecting his cousin Orophin. Thranduil still blamed himself, for that. Even though no one else did, and Theli in specific had firmly told his King not to. 

“I don’t think that you’ll lose his respect,” Thranduil said in a measured tone, “Which I know that you have earned, although I do not know whether it was at that point, or even earlier. Celeborn may be disappointed with whatever it is that you’ve done – Theli, what have you done?” 

“You don’t want to know.” 

“An insufficient answer, cousin. Elaborate,” Thranduil ordered. 

Theli sighed deeply, and then looked up at Thranduil again with a pleading expression in his dark blue eyes, “Can I tell you tomorrow, please? I’d like tonight to just be happy about this, about having more family, before I’m in trouble again. And it’s not all my trouble, I really can’t speak for anyone else, and . . .” 

Thranduil stopped the rush of words by raising his hand and saying, “Tomorrow is fine. And I suspect that Celeborn will be suitably distracted by the news we bring him tonight to leave this . . . other matter . . . alone, for the time being. However, there will be no more avoiding him, is that clear? It would be unkind to withhold your company as his great-nephew from him, as well.” 

“If you say so, Thranduil,” Theli replied, although it was clear that he had his doubts. 

“I say so. Now, come along. Cousin Celeborn has been searching for news of his great-nephews Elured and Elurin for the better part of three Ages. It would be cruel to make him wait any longer.” 

Thranduil had expected the long gallery of the King’s House to be full of music and chatter. Due to the late hour, he’d already resigned himself to having missed the company of his granddaughter and Aragorn’s and Faramir’s children, but he had still expected the mood of the company to be quite jovial. 

Instead they walked into a very tense situation. One where it seemed as if the whole room was arrayed against Elladan Elrondion, and Theli’s cousin and Celeborn’s middle adopted son Orophin. Well, at least all of the Elder Set of elves, plus Elrohir, Haldir and a few others. 

Faramir standing between his father and his bride looked relieved, although he also looked as if he was trying to hide that. Legolas, standing on the other side of Aragorn, seemed appalled. Thranduil noted with a mixture of jealousy and relief that Aragorn had a comforting arm around Legolas' shoulders. 

Celeborn, Glorfindel, and Erestor were all sharply reprimanding an ashamed and repentant looking Melpomaen, a shame-faced but somehow still defiant Orophin, and an Elladan who was full-on into ‘it made perfect sense to me at the time’ ranting mode. Just seeing Elladan like that gave Thranduil chills of dread down his spine, remembering the Great Spider Incident. 

Theli beside Thranduil stiffened, murmured something about 'such bad timing' and looked like he wanted to leave the room, but didn't. 

Instead Theli took the box and gave it to the startled Thranduil with a murmured, “Hold this, please,” and then walked towards the center of the storm. 

Thranduil, holding the casket, went over to his foster-son Thalion, his gwedyr, and their friend Captain Teliemir, who commanded the half company of Greenwood soldiers which had accompanied Thranduil and his retinue to Minas Tirith. Thranduil had thought about going to Legolas, but Legolas seemed to be calming down with Aragorn’s aid, and besides Thranduil would have had to have walked past Elladan et. al. to get to his youngest son. Thalion and the others were closer to the door. 

“What in Orome’s name is going on?” Thranduil asked them. 

“It’s . . . hard to explain, Ada. Hard to believe, too,” Thalion answered. 

Fileg nodded his agreement, but gamely tried to explain, “Elladan Elrodion, Celeborn’s son Orophin, Erestor’s son Melpomaen, and our Theli spent a not insubstantial amount of time in Enemy Lands, in between about T.A. 2880 and 2930. Eight different journeys, apparently, and it was all Mithrandir’s idea.” 

“And then they took one last trip not long after the Battle of the Five Armies, in about T.A. 2956, into Minas Morgul and Mordor itself,” Captain Teliemir added.

“My lovely wife confirms that last,” offered Thalion, his pain at his wife’s sufferings plain in his expressive chocolate colored eyes, “Rian and her cousin Mithrellas tended to their wounded comrade, Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth, when they were captives of the Witch-King.” 

“Well, that does explain why Theli has been avoiding Celeborn for the last several decades,” Thranduil said archly. Thalion was right, though. This story was hard to believe, even of elves as unpredictable as Elladan and Theli, let alone the more steady Orophin and Melpomaen. 

Theli, meanwhile, had gone over to put a hand on Orophin’s shoulder. After he’d gotten his cousin’s attention, Theli waved to Melpomaen, who stood beside his father Erestor, with Erestor’s arm over Melpomaen’s slender shoulders in a clearly protective manner. 

“Pardon, Ada,” Melpomaen said to his father, as he pulled gracefully away from Erestor to walk over to stand beside Theli. 

With Orophin now on one side of him and Melpomaen on the other, Theli reached forward and slapped the still arguing Elladan on the shoulder to get his attention. 

“What?!” Elladan snapped back at him. 

Thranduil wasn’t at all surprised by that; Elladan had always been rude to Theli, for as long as Thranduil could remember. Thalion had told his father that he thought it was because Elrond had made an especial protegee of Theli, and Elladan was jealous. Whatever the reason, the poor treatment wasn’t merited. Theli had always been kind and patient with Elladan. 

As he’d matured into an adult, Elladan had learned to watch his tongue a bit more in respect to his one-sided rivalry with Theli. But during this last visit in Minas Tirith, he’d been practically unbearable. Thranduil didn’t know if it was because Elrond had sailed, or stress over Faramir’s disappearance, or some reason known only to Elladan. Whatever the reason for Elladan’s recently renewed rudeness to Theli, Thranduil had been about to intervene himself on several occasions, and would have if Erestor, and Melpomaen (on separate occasions) hadn’t spared him the effort. 

Also startling, Thranduil had never before seen Theli touch Elladan, outside of when they worked together healing, or sparred. For Theli to have just smacked Elladan on the shoulder was highly out of character. Theli didn’t touch people who didn’t want to be touched by him. He had never presumed in such a way, not once in all the centuries that Thranduil had known him. And, for Elladan, snapping back at Theli was actually a mild reaction to being slapped on the shoulder by someone Elladan had always seemed to view as a despised rival. 

Instead of replying to Elladan’s frustrated outburst with words, Theli reached up and put a gentle hand around the back of Elladan’s neck, pulling the taller peredhel down until their foreheads touched in a gesture of reassurance and brotherhood. 

To Thranduil’s shock, Elladan not only accepted the gesture of affection, but participated in it willingly, seeming to draw a great deal of comfort and peace from it. 

As the two ellyn looked up and moved apart, they shared a smile. Elladan no longer looked like an elf who was jealous of Theli. To the contrary, he looked as if he loved Theli almost as a brother and trusted him unquestionably as a comrade. 

Elladan and Theli stepped apart from one another only far enough to link arms with Orophin and Melpomaen. The four ellyn formed a circle, a four- way embrace, then bowed their heads together in silent communion for a moment. To Thranduil, it was apparent from these interactions that the four elves had worked together frequently and intensely enough to function near seamlessly as a team. And that, while Elladan Elrondion might have been this little group’s leader, Theli had been its heart. 

After taking a moment to draw unspoken support from one another, the four ellyn bravely turned to face their audience. 

At meeting all of the disapproving gazes arrayed against them, Elladan narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth again, as if about to further protest that the censure from his elder kinsmen and mentors was unwarranted. 

But then Theli shook his head, and Elladan paused. Not out of fear, but out of respect and trust. As if Elladan were a young captain and Theli his lower ranking but more experienced subordinate officer, who was giving his commander a wordless, pre-agreed upon signal. Clearly, these two elves had worked together a great deal, to have developed that high level of rapport. 

The Elder Set appeared momentarily speechless in response to this unified front from the erring younger elves. 

So, after a few moments of silence, it was Thranduil who asked, “Did the four of you really go into Enemy lands nine different times at that idiot Mithrandir’s behest?” 

“Yes,” answered Theli matter-of-factly, “what else do you want to know?” 

Thranduil was more than willing to let Celeborn take that question. He, at least, had apparently had some inkling of this ahead of time!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right on the heels of learning that his friend Theli is also his cousin, Thranduil learns that Theli – along with Elladan, Orophin, and Melpomaen – spent a not insignificant part of the late Third Age going on perilous journeys through Enemy lands at the behest of the Wizard Gandalf. Thranduil isn’t pleased. He’s not the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil, Master Rochirion and Mistress Saelrien belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. Please do read all warnings. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quotes:
> 
> “We accept the love we think we deserve.” ― Stephen Chbosky 
> 
> “Family quarrels have a total bitterness unmatched by others. Yet it sometimes happens that they also have a kind of tang, a pleasantness beneath the unpleasantness, based on the tacit understanding that this is not for keeps; that any limb you climb out on will still be there later for you to climb back.” ~Mignon McLaughlin
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 17:   
> “[I]t was Thranduil who asked, “Did the four of you really go into Enemy lands nine different times at that idiot Mithrandir’s behest?”
> 
> “Yes,” answered Theli matter-of-factly, “what else do you want to know?”
> 
> Thranduil was more than willing to let Celeborn take that question. He, at least, had apparently had some inkling of this ahead of time!”

Celeborn, Glorfindel, Elrohir, Haldir, and Erestor all began vehemently lecturing and questioning Elladan, Orophin, Melpomaen, and Theli at the same time. The cacophony insulted Thrandul’s ears to the extent that he winced. 

Since the Elder Set (plus Haldir and Elrohir) were busy talking over one another for the time being, Thranduil turned his attention to surveying the room, with especial attention to where ‘his’ Greenwood elves were, and how they were managing this unexpected revelation. 

Legolas was still a little pale, but between Aragorn (and now Arwen as well) on his right, and That Annoying Dwarf Gimli on his left, he was holding up. That had been Thranduil’s primary concern. Thalion and Theli were friends, but Legolas looked up to and relied on Theli in much the same way that Thranduil had once looked up to and relied on Elrond. Learning that Theli had been in danger multiple times and that Legolas hadn’t even known about it could not be an easy revelation. 

Also clustered around Legolas were several of his cousins and friends who had, like Legolas, been born during the Watchful Peace. That group included his cousin Baeraeriel, who was the second-in-command of Legolas’ army garrison at Ithilien-en-Edhil, and also Baeraeriel’s brother Televegil, an architect and engineer. Baeraeriel had served both under Theli’s command, and later as his and Legolas’ commanding officer. The three of them had a layered history together, and a loyalty to one another, which Thranduil did not entirely understand but respected nonetheless. Baeraeriel had a fairly good ‘command’ face for her age, but Thranduil knew her well, and could tell that she, too, was troubled to learn that Theli had faced danger far from her aid, or the aid of any of their Greenwood comrades. 

Alerted by Thalion’s earlier mention that his wife Rian had been peripherally involved in Theli’s escapades during her time as a captive of the Witch-King, through her having tended to the wounds of Theli’s comrade the human Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth during his brief captivity in Minas Morgul, Thranduil sought out Rian to make sure that she was bearing up well enough. He found her standing with Haldir’s and Orophin’s wives, Silwen Gladiriel and Eilunwen Drystaniel. Thranduil’s cousins Lothgail and Mychanar, Fileg’s wife Calmarille, and Eilunwen’s best friend Tauriel, the Horsemistress of Imladris, were all with them, as well. 

Eilunwen and Orophin had married relatively recently, only a few decades ago, so Eilunwen had not already been Orophin’s wife during the events in question. But learning that her husband had put himself repeatedly at risk in Enemy lands, even though Orophin hadn’t been her husband yet, was clearly troubling Eilunwen. Thranduil didn’t blame her. He was glad that Lothgail, Mychanar, Calmarille, Rian, and Tauriel were offering her what comfort they could. 

‘His’ people all accounted for, Thranduil turned his attention back to the cacophonous lecture going on in the middle of the room. Rather to Thranduil’s surprise, it was kind and elegant Erestor who was the loudest and most perturbed of all of the angry elders. Also surprising to Thranduil, Elrohir was arrayed with the Elder Set against his nine-minutes-younger twin brother. 

Thranduil could never remember the Elrondion twins taking different sides of an issue this big before. Had Elladan really done all of this with Elrohir being none the wiser? Elrohir had spent a substantial amount of that time as his father’s ambassador to Thranduil’s kingdom, but still. Thranduil would have thought such a thing impossible, save that he was seeing the evidence of it right in front of him. 

“Quiet, all of you,” Glorfindel said sharply, his authoritative voice cutting through the din like a trumpet calling orders on the battlefield, “One at a time. Celeborn first.” 

Surprising Thranduil a third time in as many minutes, Erestor defied his beloved and much-respected grandfather by speaking before Celeborn had a chance. 

“How could you have let my son, the nephew of my heart, and his uncle do such a foolish and dangerous thing, Ecthelion?” Erestor demanded of Theli in angry disbelief, “And not just once, but nine different times! You are almost 1,500 years older than Orophin, and over 1,650 years older than Melpomaen and Elladan! You should have known better!” 

Theli met the furiously angry lord’s eyes directly, his manner deeply apologetic but short of abject as he said earnestly, “You are right, Erestor. I should have tried harder to stop us going, especially the first time.” 

“You most certainly should have!” Erestor scolded, “All it would have taken was one word to any of us! Or to Thranduil!” 

“More than one word,” Celeborn interrupted, his tone pensive and sorrowful rather than accusatory, “For I did turn you away when you came to warn me, Ecthelion. Twice, as I recall.” 

Theli blushed and looked down at his feet, “You had your reasons, I know, Lord Celeborn.” 

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. Theli did not customarily look down when he was ashamed of something he’d done. He accepted that he’d done something wrong, and met the consequences the same way he met the gaze of the person he’d wronged. Apologetically, but directly and earnestly. 

The only other time that Thranduil had seen Theli look down at the ground as if he were ashamed of himself when answering an allegation of wrong-doing in the last 2,000 years was when his cousin had been lying through his teeth about having recklessly ordered Thranduil’s soldiers to risk their lives far from home with no hope of aid. So, either Theli was lying again, which Thranduil had never known him to do in 2,000 years save that once, or the reason that Celeborn had refused to listen to Theli’s warning had had something to do with Theli’s false confession to treason. 

“Whatever I thought of your recent actions in the field, I should have heard you out fairly, Ecthelion,” Celeborn countered repentantly, “especially as I know that you have always taken my sons’ safety and happiness most seriously, whatever your other faults. Even if you hadn’t had grave reason for your concerns, I am very sorry that I turned you away.” 

Thranduil nodded to himself at having the latter of his two suspicions proven true. Legolas, on the other hand, looked guilty, and horrified on his former commander’s behalf. 

Before Thranduil could stop his son, Legolas defended his dear friend and former commanding officer by protesting hotly, “But Cousin Celeborn, what happened with going after those slavers outside the Wood and into the Northmen’s lands wasn’t Theli’s fault, he . . .” 

“Leave it be, ion-nin,” Thranduil ordered sternly, at the same time he spoke firmly but sympathetically into Legolas’ mind, *I understand, ion-nin, I do. But this isn’t the time or the place for you to confess to mutiny. Now that I know of the affair, it is my place and not yours to determine when it should be made public, and if it should be made public. It is not only your career and reputation on the line, but also those of all of your fellow warriors. And besides, Theli has sacrificed greatly for his determination to protect you all, and has so far succeeded in that endeavor. It would be disrespectful of that sacrifice for you to abnegate his efforts without first receiving his consent to do so. A consent which he is actively denying you, based on the pleading ‘shut-up, my prince’ expression on his face.*

Legolas appeared tormented for a moment, but then he nodded in obedience to Thranduil’s request. And to Theli’s plea, although that was less obvious to the room at large. Or at least so Thranduil hoped. 

“It doesn’t matter if Celeborn turned you away,” Erestor upbraided Theli, to Thranduil’s mild irritation again ignoring the other three miscreants, “Lady Galadriel would have listened to you. Or you could have told me, Elrond, or Glorfindel when you were in Imladris just after your first trip through Rhun and Mordor!” 

“To be fair to Theli,” Orophin interrupted, “I think that he thought that Naneth knew all of what it was that Mithrandir had asked us to do.” 

Theli blinked in surprise and turned to ask his cousin, “Lady Galadriel didn’t know what we were doing?” 

“No. Oh, she knew that we were going on trading trips to gather information for Mithrandir, but she didn’t know where we were trading,” Orophin explained, “Elladan and I just let you and Melpomaen assume that Naneth knew, so that you wouldn’t try to tell her.” 

That, and Thranduil also knew that Theli had always avoided Galadriel like the plague, fearing that she would try to get him to learn how to control and direct his occasional premonitions. But, to protect Orophin, Theli would have gone to Galadriel. Thranduil was quite certain of that. And, judging by his self-condemning and remorseful expression, so was cousin Celeborn. 

Either that confession by Orophin, or maybe Melpomaen going to stand beside his father again, finally gave Erestor pause in his verbal attacks on Theli, whom Erestor seemed to blame the most. Thranduil didn’t know whether that was because Theli was the oldest of the four ellyn, which Thranduil thought was the case. Or less admirably, whether it was because Theli was the only one of the four who wasn’t held in a special place in Erestor’s heart. Knowing Erestor to be a kind and honorable elf, it was probably the former. Or perhaps that he’d already gotten his initial reprimanding of Elladan, Melpomaen, and Orophin out of his system before Thranduil and Theli arrived. 

“Oh,” Theli accepted with a sigh, “I wish that you and Elladan hadn’t done that, ‘Phin. But, to be fair, I’m not sure whether I would have spoken up after that first trip, even if I’d known that Lady Galadriel didn’t know. By then, I knew that you, Elladan, and Mithrandir were still determined to continue. And I knew that I couldn’t persuade you otherwise. But I could go with you and guard your backs. Besides, I thought that – I still think that - the three of you were right about a few things. Someone needed to track down the poisons that were being used to kill important lords and captains of Gondor. And also, later, the poisons being used to sicken entire towns through contamination of their water supplies. Someone had to do it, and I wasn’t sure who would or could other than us.” 

“Theli, really, you and Melpomaen tried your best,” Elladan excused his friend and his oath-brother, “the two of you were urging us to confess and get help from Ada, Glorfindel, Daernaneth Galadriel, Daerada Celeborn, cousin Thranduil, and Prince Angelimir, up until the last leg of the last trip. But Mithrandir and I were afraid that we wouldn’t have been allowed to complete our mission if Ada and the other rulers knew about it. So we didn’t say anything, and I ordered you and Melpomaen not to say anything, either.” 

“Even afterward, when that intelligence might have had great value, my Lieutenant?” Glorfindel queried of Elladan in a quietly threatening manner. 

That had actually been Thranduil’s first question, too, and likely Rochendil’s. Thranduil didn’t mind that Glorfindel had asked for him, and the King thought that Rochendil probably didn’t mind, either. 

“Do you think that I’m that foolish, Glorfindel, really?” Elladan asked exasperatedly, which made Thranduil want to shake the younger twin peredhel even as Elladan continued, “We filtered the information we had gathered about the Enemy’s military forces and anything else that we thought might have value back anonymously through Gondor’s and the Rangers’ spy networks.” 

Which was an answer that Thranduil didn’t particularly like, because it meant that Greenwood would have gotten that information last of the elven kingdoms. 

“Captain Oskari of the Northern Rangers knew, then?” Aragorn asked, his blue-gray eyes stormy with fear for the dangers that Elladan and the others had risked in the past. 

“No, he didn’t, Aragorn, and neither did your man Ethiron,” Melpomaen clarified quietly from where he stood by his father, with Erestor’s comforting arm once more around his shoulders, “But Oskari’s second-in-command, who was later Ethiron’s second, did know.” 

“I knew,” Faramir confessed, “My great-grandfather Angelimir learned after the last mission, the one during which my grandfather Adrahil was taken captive by orcs and would have died, if not for your efforts, my friends. Great-grandfather Angelimir wrote about all of it in his day-books.” 

Given that Faramir hadn’t been born until long after the events in question, Thranduil didn’t view Faramir’s involvement or lack of speaking up to be an issue at all, or even particularly relevant. 

Faramir’s irrepressible cousin, Amrothos of Dol Amroth, chuckled and inserted himself boldly into the conversation by saying, “Faramir and I found and read great-grandfather Angelimir’s daybooks when we were children. They made for good reading on a rainy day, although they didn’t include any of the elven spies’ proper names except for Theli’s.” 

Amrothos turned his attention towards Thranduil’s new-found cousin, and remarked in a devilishly amused tone of voice, “Apparently, Theli, you wouldn’t let Daerada Adrahil knight you, and he found that most vexing.” 

“No, I wouldn’t let Adrahil knight me,” Theli replied exasperatedly, “because his ancestor Galador of Dol Amroth had already done so near the beginning of the Third Age, for my fighting pirates at Orophin’s side. As I told Adrahil at the time, I can’t be knighted somewhere twice, and besides, I didn’t want any added attention for doing things I wasn’t supposed to be doing places where I wasn’t supposed to be at all.” 

“Oh, Daerada had planned to say that the knighthood was just for helping to heal plague victims and helping him fight a kraken within Gondor,” Adrahil said lightly, “He wasn’t an idiot, and he was very good at concealing what he’d been up to.” 

While Thranduil wondered when it was that Theli had faced a kraken and why Thranduil hadn’t heard about it before, Amrothos continued gaily, “Our Daerada Adrahil had quite the sense of humor! Because you wouldn’t let him knight you, he had a statue of you carved and put up in Calaear Town on the Belfalas coast to honor you, for helping the plague victims there.” 

Theli smacked his forehead with a hand and groaned, “Please tell me that Adrahil didn’t do that. He’d threatened to, but I really thought that he’d been jesting.” 

“He most certainly did,” Faramir sympathetically informed Theli, “It’s a good likeness. I recognized you from it when I first met you in the Greenwood.” 

Theli seemed at a temporary loss of words, which was such an unusual thing for him that it made Thranduil smile despite the seriousness of the situation. That, and also the thought of the rather humble Theli with a heroic statue in his honor was quite amusing to the King of the Greenwood. 

Orophin shook his head and addressed Faramir and Amrothos, “Your grandfather Adrahil and his sense of humor. I can’t tell you how many times he nearly got us all killed by not being able to resist sharing his unsolicited witticisms with the world at large.” 

“What other humans were involved in these adventures of yours, ion-nin?” Celeborn inquired of Orophin with such tightly controlled calm that Thranduil almost winced on his behalf. 

Theli did wince. 

Orophin just sighed, then rallied himself to answer his father’s question, “Prince Imrahil’s father Adrahil, as you’ve already heard, Ada. Also Adrahil’s men, Sergeant Tarostar and Corporal Cilben. And two men from Laketown, Eyvin and Brand. And then later their sons, because Men of Dale do not live as long as the Numenorean descendants of Prince Imrazor in Dol Amroth.” 

“Eyvin, and Brand?” Legolas exclaimed. Pain and disbelief plain on his fair features, he demanded, “Our Eyvin and Brand were there, Theli? And you didn’t let me know, or invite me to help?” 

Thranduil did feel some sympathy for his son’s hurt and shock. He knew that Legolas as well as Theli had fought in the mixed human and elven unit with the Men of Laketown for over seven decades. And the King knew how hard it was to have your comrades face danger and not be able to help them. But still, Thranduil was profoundly glad that Theli had never mentioned this reckless idiocy to Legolas. Thranduil could never have forgiven Theli for endangering his son in such a fashion. And, to Thranduil’s relief and appreciation, he knew that Theli would never have done such a thing. Gone with Legolas, maybe, if he couldn’t convince Legolas to go back for help. But purposely invite him into danger? No, never. 

“Legolas, I didn’t think that any of us should have been there,” Theli replied ruefully, “Why would I have tried to put more of my friends in danger by letting them know about it?” 

“At least you showed that much wisdom,” Erestor allowed, “But I still cannot imagine what you were thinking, Ecthelion! Elladan and Orophin may have ordered you not to say anything, but I’ve never known you to follow an order that in your heart you didn’t believe was right! Why didn’t you come to me? Or to Elrond? Even if you didn’t care enough for your cousin Orophin to take the necessary measures to keep him safe, Elrond loved you and trusted you! Didn’t you realize that you were risking the lives - and sanity - of your beloved mentor’s child, heart-nephew, and brother-by-law?” 

Thranduil thought that was rather unfair of Erestor. Fortunately, so did Elladan and Orophin, who gamely entered into round two of defending Theli from Erestor’s accusations. Since Thranduil’s point of view was being vigorously expressed by those two eloquent – if sometimes idiotic – elves, Thranduil focused his attention on preventing further disaster and gathering more information. 

*Rochendil,* Thranduil bespoke his mentor and general mind-to-mind, *If Legolas – or Baeraeriel - tries to confess to mutiny again, stop them or let me know so that I can stop them. That’s the last thing we need today.*

Rochendil turned his head in Thranduil’s direction and subtly nodded his agreement. 

Thranduil thanked his heart-father wordlessly but sincerely, then equally wordlessly summoned his youngest son to his side. 

Legolas wisely went the long way around the room in order to avoid getting in the middle of the shouting throng.

When Legolas reached Thranduil’s side, the King inquired softly, “How did all of this even come to light, ion-nin?” 

Legolas huffed a tired sigh, brushed his hair away from his forehead, and then answered, “I wasn’t there when it first came up, Ada. But Aragorn told me that Glorfindel was offering his unsolicited opinion that Aragorn is letting Faramir off too easily for his spying in Harad, with Faramir right there, yet again. Glorfindel does that fairly frequently, you see.” 

“I can believe that of him, yes,” Thranduil allowed sardonically. 

Legolas nodded with a faint smile in appreciation of his father’s humor and well-known clashes with Glorfindel, then continued, “Apparently Elladan was tired of it, or he was tired of seeing Aragorn and Arwen upset by it, although quite frankly they both seemed to be shrugging off Glorfindel’s criticisms of their parenting, or at least to me they did. But anyway, Elladan defended Faramir by saying to Glorfindel that it likely wasn’t all Faramir’s fault. That he – Elladan – knows how these things can just happen, and that it was probably Mithrandir’s idea in the first place.” 

Thranduil huffed disbelievingly. 

Fileg, similarly incredulous, remarked, “A prince – or a royal lord - going off and spying alone in an enemy country is something that can ‘just happen’ in Elladan’s world view?” 

“Evidently,” Thranduil drawled, and then added, “Are you really surprised by that, gwador?” 

“By that, no,” Fileg agreed, “But that our Theli would go along with it surprises me a little.” 

“It doesn’t surprise me,” Linwe observed, quietly disapproving. 

“You shouldn’t think that, Uncle Linwe,” Legolas disputed, his laurel green eyes again tormented with guilt, “You see . . .” 

“Legolas.” 

“Yes, Ada, but . . .” 

“Leave it be,” Thranduil ordered again, narrowing his sapphire eyes at his youngest offspring. Thranduil did not care to repeat himself when he thought that he’d already gotten his point across, and Legolas knew that well. 

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas conceded reluctantly. 

Thranduil did understand why his son was having difficulty letting Theli face the consequences for the lie he’d chosen to tell. But Theli had chosen it. And Legolas had, with Theli’s other officers and soldiers, agreed to let their sergeant, whom they’d already grievously wronged by mutinying against, take all of the blame. Legolas had been an adult and an experienced officer, albeit a young one, by the time he’d made those decisions. As much as Thranduil wanted to protect his son from pain, Legolas had to learn to bear the consequences of his actions. 

Witnessing how much trouble Legolas had letting Theli assume those consequences without defending him in just the last half hour, Thranduil was impressed by how much effort Theli must have expended in shielding Legolas from seeing what Theli had suffered for his choices. Again, Theli’s great love, loyalty, and dedication to his son simultaneously touched and appalled Thranduil. 

And increasingly, it made Thranduil concerned on Theli’s behalf. In part because such self-sacrificing tendencies were dangerous for Theli, and in part for another reason that had just now occurred to Thranduil. If not for Theli having lied about giving a treasonous order in order to protect Legolas and his other soldiers from justified mutiny charges, Celeborn would have listened to Theli when Theli came to him to express concern about the tasks that Mithrandir had asked Orophin and Elladan to undertake. Had Theli assumed that because Celeborn hadn’t been willing to listen to him due to that, others wouldn’t have been, either? Had Theli truly thought that Thranduil wouldn’t have listened to him, because of that?

Worse, had Theli been right, in thinking that? Would Thranduil have listened to Theli, and trusted Theli’s judgement enough to question the motives and plans of a respected ally? Well, in this case, yes, because Thranduil had never really trusted Mithrandir. Liked Mithrandir, yes, but trusted him, no. Thranduil had trusted Mithrandir much more than he’d trusted Saruman, but that wasn’t saying much. 

But in a different case? Thranduil sighed, because he couldn’t be sure himself. He’d been angry with Theli, mostly for endangering Legolas but also for endangering his command. Thranduil had understood the motivation that Legolas had felt to rescue the women and children who had been captured by the bandit slavers and taken beyond the Greenwood’s and Dale’s borders. The father in Thranduil understood why his compassionate, brave, and daring son might had mutinied to go after the slavers, despite all the dangers. But Legolas had been young, only a little over three hundred years old at the time. Too young to truly appreciate the dangers, and too young and passionate to let that knowledge and his responsibility to his soldiers keep him from doing something so reckless as to be illegal under the laws and customs governing Greenwood’s military. 

Theli had been older, and he had possessed the experience and maturity to judge the situation to be too dangerous. That’s why he’d been trusted with that command. Thranduil had felt betrayed by Theli, and by his own trust in Theli’s judgement. But only because Thranduil hadn’t known that Theli had given the right order. And that he had only agreed to lead the foray in pursuit of the bandits after the mutiny, after it was clear that a substantial portion of his command was going on the dangerous expedition with or without Theli. 

Once Thranduil had known . . . he’d been angry about the lie. But Thranduil respected Theli for making the decision to take back the command, and to protect his soldiers the best way he knew how, by leading them where they’d already decided that they were going. 

Thranduil had never been mutinied against. It was one of any commanding officer’s worst nightmares. Theli had lived through it, in large part because of actions taken by Thranduil’s own son. The proper action for Theli to have taken after the mutiny, the legal action, was to have either had his soldiers fight against one another to suppress the mutiny, or to have led his obedient soldiers back to the hall, and left the mutineers to seek their own deaths. Given Theli’s choices . . . Thranduil actually thought that his friend had made the best one. 

But Thranduil hadn’t known Theli well enough to tell that he’d been lying about what had happened. And Thranduil couldn’t be sure that, as angry as he’d been when he still believed the lie, he would have listened to Theli then if Theli had come to Thranduil to tell him, say, that Thalion was about to do something foolish. So Thranduil couldn’t be too upset with Celeborn for failing to heed Theli’s warnings. But he did feel very sorry for his new-found cousin. Thranduil knew from his own experiences how lonely it felt to be distrusted for having made poor decisions. Thranduil knew that feeling well enough to have some idea how alienated Theli must have felt. It made Thranduil resolve to make sure he got this matter of trust straightened out with his cousin, as soon as possible. 

But not in front of this large an audience, which made Thranduil turn his attention back to the interrogation of Theli and his fellows. Erestor was momentarily quiet, and now Glorfindel was eliciting, mostly from Elladan, a better description of where and when the four of them had gone. That at least was useful information. Although to Thranduil’s mind it could easily wait until tomorrow, having waited many long years already. 

“On the first trip, we were working from information that Rhunnic traders had visited Lossarnach just before the wisest of that lord’s knight advisors suffered a mysterious – and fatal- illness, similar to the other unusual deaths that Mithrandir and I had been keeping track of,” Elladan explained, “So we went from Gondor into Rhun, all the way to the Sea of Rhun.” 

“Part of that particular poison was derived from the stinger of this inland sea sting ray,” Theli added, seemingly distracted from how much trouble he and his comrades were in by a subject that interested him, “Once we’d learned that, we sent Orophin, Adrahil, and Tarostar back with that information, and the antidote to that part of the poison. Then we went on to the Ash Mountains, where we’d heard a rumor that there were these gray weeds that other active ingredients of the poison were derived from.” 

Either the Elder Set was momentarily silenced again by the horrible implications of that, or they had become inured to the four younger elves’ recitation of stupidity. 

Thranduil, who hadn’t quite reached that point, bestirred himself to ask, “Excuse me, Theli, I think I must have heard you incorrectly. I thought that you just said that you went to the Ash Mountains, which are along the northern border to Mordor.” 

“Err . . . yes?” Theli said, looking as if he were beginning to remember to be uneasy. 

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Thranduil queried dangerously. 

“Um,” said Theli, playing for time while he looked to Elladan for a rescue. 

Elladan obliged, saying in an over-patient tone of voice, “Cousin Thranduil, if you stop us to ask more questions every time we say that we went into or around Mordor, then we’re never going to get through telling you everywhere we went.” 

“I’ll give you this, Elladan,” Thranduil replied, “You’ve never lacked audacity.” 

Glorfindel chuckled darkly, “No, that he does not. And how did your trip into Mordor go, Elladan guren?” 

“I forgot where we were and ended up getting gutted by an orc scout’s spear for my inattention,” Elladan admitted, “I killed it, but Theli was worried about whether it might be missed, so he made us leave in a hurry.” 

While Thranduil marveled at how dire it would have been had Elrond’s son been captured by orcs, Celeborn turned his emerald green eyes to regard Thranduil. At the same time, General Rochendil took a step closer to his King, and then placed a heavy, reassuring hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. 

“Hmm?” Thranduil queried, looking to his mentor and heart-father, and to Celeborn as well. 

“I am remembering how very easily it could have been you who was taken as a captive of the Enemy, my ellfing,” the copper-haired ellon reminded Thranduil softly. 

The King took a deep breath, recalling himself those long-ago days of anger and hopelessness, when desperation had driven him to what had, with the benefit of hindsight, been very foolhardy actions. 

*At least you didn’t do it again* Glorfindel observed sardonically into Thranduil’s mind, even as he continued to stare disapprovingly at Elladan and his partners in crime. 

*You made it very clear that, given what I knew of my father’s and the other war leaders’ plans, doing so would have been so unwise as to have been practically disloyal,* Thranduil replied, just as dryly. 

*I focused on that because I thought it was the part which would finally get through your stubborn head,* Glorfindel retorted, *and I trusted that your father, Rochendil, Celeborn, Elrond and others more suited to soft words would have made the other point.*

*Is it truly so hard for you to admit that you would have missed me?* Thranduil marveled. 

A silent golden laugh was his reply, followed a moment later by the amused, tender thought, *Yes, I would have missed you, my dear student and difficult elfling. Now reassure Rochendil. And Celeborn.*

“Ai!” Thranduil muttered softly. One mistake! Granted, a huge mistake, but still! No one ever forgot it! Even Linwe and Fileg had stepped closer to Thranduil, seeming to similarly seek reassurance that their younger oath-brother was alive and well despite his adventures over an age ago. 

Feeling somewhat badly for Theli and his fellow miscreants for a moment, Thranduil said, “I survived that experience fortunately unscathed, Rochendil. And I did learn from it.” 

“Thank the Valar,” Celeborn said, “You very thoroughly frightened us, cousin.” 

Rochendil nodded his concurrence with that. Thranduil sighed again, and then sent a wordless burst of reassurance to both of them, and to his gwedyr and Glorfindel for good measure. 

Rochendil released Thranduil’s shoulder after another affectionate squeeze. Celeborn turned his intent gaze back to his son, while Fileg and Linwe subtly bumped Thranduil’s shoulders after Rochendil stepped back. 

When Thranduil turned his attention back to the lecture/interrogation, Elrohir was shaking his head and complaining of his twin, “You told me that scar came from fighting orcs in the Ettenmoors, Elladan!” 

“No, I didn’t, muindor. You said that; I just let you believe it,” Elladan corrected apologetically, “And I was wounded again in the Ettenmoors, on our way back. After that we stopped home in Imladris, for me to heal. We were there when Mithrandir sent word that the stingray-based antidote had been effective in some cases but not others, and that Orophin had found evidence of Haradric involvement in the Lefnui. So we left Imladris to go join them in Gondor. And that’s when Melpomaen wouldn’t let me leave again unless I took him with us.” 

“Ion-nin, I do wish that you had spoken with me instead of aiding your gwador in doing such a foolish thing,” Erestor scolded his son, “I don’t know what I would have done had I lost the two of you.” 

“I’m sorry, Ada,” said Melpomaen, deep and sincere regret plain in expressive mocha brown eyes. 

Thranduil absently noted that, in contrast to Elladan, Melpomaen was wise enough not to try to justify his actions at this juncture. Not that Elladan didn’t offer an explanation, unasked, on his gwador’s behalf. 

“Melpomaen knew that I was going to continue with what I was doing in any case,” Elladan excused his oath-brother, “He argued with me about it while Glorfindel, Ada, and Theli argued about swords.” 

“Swords?” Thranduil inquired archly, aware of Rochendil behind him also paying close attention. 

“Don’t ask,” said Theli abashedly. 

“I’ll tell you later, Thranduil,” Glorfindel offered, giving Theli an excessively patient look, “The tale will give you yet more evidence that your retainer is a brave and well-meaning idiot, but it’s otherwise not relevant to the larger matter.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Thranduil agreed, while Theli sighed unhappily. 

Glorfindel nodded to Thranduil, then turned the full intensity of his cobalt blue gaze back to Elladan, “And where did you go next, Lieutenant-mine?” 

“After we all met in Gondor, and Melpomaen wouldn’t agree to wait for us in Lorien or go back to Imladris,” Elladan began again, only to be interrupted by his twin. 

“And just what is wrong with Melpomaen?” Elrohir asked, seemingly indignant on their oath-brother’s behalf. 

“Nothing,” said Elladan, with a contrite, rueful smile for Melpomaen, “Except that Mithrandir didn’t think he belonged in the group, since he wasn’t a . . .” 

“Don’t go into all of that, Elladan. It’s not really relevant,” Orophin interrupted, his gray-green eyes flashing a warning to Elladan to shut up. 

“We’ll decide what is relevant for now, ion-muin-nin,” Celeborn interrupted his son, before commanding Elladan, “Go ahead and explain, daerion-nin.” 

“Well, we were all either second sons or troublemakers, except for Melpomaen,” Elladan explained, “Mithrandir didn’t want to risk anyone who wasn’t ultimately expendable.” 

That explanation was greeted by a resounding silence at first. Thranduil himself wasn’t sure what to say, other than that Mithrandir was an idiot, and none of these four elves were expendable in Thranduil’s eyes. Given a few more moments, Thranduil might have decided to give voice to his opinion, but Glorfindel spoke up first. 

“Elladan my heart,” the Balrog-slayer began, his tone one part hurt and one part furious, “what in all of Arda gave you the terrifyingly stupid idea that you are expendable? And if the answer is a 'who' rather than a 'what,' then I want a name, elfling. Now.” 

“Captain-mine,” Elladan replied soothingly, “I know that I am loved, but I'm not Ada's first or only child. If I had died in the South or East, Ada would have still been left an heir and a spare.” 

“Was this your logic as well, Orophin?” Celeborn asked his son gravely. 

“To . . . a certain extent, Ada,” the elegant ellon allowed carefully, “although it was also a task which needed to be done, and one for which I was well-suited. I am not an expert in poisons; but Mithrandir already had two of those. I am an excellent linguist and trader, and since you didn’t wish to utilize me as a warrior . . .” 

Celeborn had refused to permit his second son to serve in Lothlorien’s army ever again after Orophin had been wounded while in a vision-trance. At the time, Orophin – with Theli – had been cut off from the rest of the company’s retreat. Theli had stayed to defend his cousin, and they had both been captured by the attacking orcs. Although they had been rescued several days later, and both eventually healed of all of their physical wounds, Celeborn had never been willing to risk a repeat of those events. 

Thranduil understood that motivation, but given that the elven warriors had only known to begin a retreat because of Orophin’s first vision that day, had Orophin been his son, Thranduil would have allowed him to fight again. Although not without bodyguards assigned specifically to care for him in the event of a vision. But then, Thranduil could sometimes be more ruthless than Celeborn. 

Despite all of Galadriel, Elrond, Glorfindel, and Theli asking Celeborn to reconsider the matter, the elven ruler’s decision had been final. And, on the rare occasions when Celeborn insisted on a matter having to do with their children, Galadriel rarely failed to accede to her husband’s wishes. 

Of course, now provided a perfect opportunity for father and son to argue over the issue again, with Haldir and his wife taking his father’s side and Rumil and Orophin’s wife arguing the middle brother’s case. 

Thranduil left Celeborn and his children to their debate, and stepped closer to Theli in order to ask him, “And which were you, mellon-nin? A second-son or a troublemaker?” 

Theli smiled uncertainly, “Both, really. A trouble maker. And nobody’s son. Not really.” 

“And so you thought yourself expendable, Ecthelion mellon nin?” Thranduil persisted blandly, making a note of that as another matter he had to straighten out with this cousin. 

“Yes, well, no. But yes?” 

“Which is it?” 

“No, but in comparison to others, yes, I am,” Theli answered. Gesturing to his three comrades, he explained, “They all have parents and siblings who would miss them. I don’t.” 

Thranduil sighed, then reached out to squeeze Theli’s shoulder, “I would have missed you, had you died doing these stupidly dangerous things.” 

Theli smiled shyly, “I would have missed you, too.” 

Thranduil squeezed his cousin’s shoulder again, and pointed out, “And I am interested to see what Nestorion, Remdir, and Healer Belegur think of your reasoning in this instance.” 

“As am I,” Rochendil said, adding his weight to Thranduil’s point. 

Theli winced. 

“Hmm, yes, that’s rather what I thought,” Thranduil agreed, using the hand that still rested on Theli’s shoulder to shake his cousin gently, “You might also want to look at Teliemir and Fileg. And to Legolas, for that matter. My son’s face went stark white a moment ago, when Elladan explained that idiot Mithrandir’s criteria.” 

“Oh! Oh, no,” Theli exclaimed, starting to walk in Legolas’ direction. 

Thranduil gently but firmly held him still, “Thalion has Legolas. And I don’t think that Glorfindel is done with you, Theli.” 

“I’m not,” the Balrog-slayer agreed with a smile that Thranduil found frankly frightening, “Now that we’ve all agreed that what Orophin thinks of his father’s decisions is immaterial to him embarking upon an amazingly stupid crusade without his father’s knowledge, perhaps you would like to tell us where you went after Gondor, Theli?” 

“Um. I think we went into Harad?” Theli managed, looking to his confederates for confirmation. 

“Yes, Harad,” Orophin confirmed, “Then back to Gondor again, because . . .” 

“Technically,” Melpomaen corrected, “It was South Gondor . . .” 

“Which, unfortunately, mostly still belongs to Harad,” Elladan pointed out, “Then back to Gondor for trading goods, and back again into Harad.” 

“South Gondor, and then Near Harad,” Melpomaen specified, “and then back to the Ash Mountains again, but from the western side.” 

“The next trip we took was back into Rhun,” Orophin continued very quickly, likely in an attempt to keep anyone from commenting. 

“We needed more stingray antidote,” Theli explained. 

“Yes, and then back to Gondor again,” Elladan continued, “which is when we realized that entire towns were coming down with what seemed more like the symptoms of a mass poisoning than a plague.” 

“Although some of it was plague, wasn’t it?” Faramir asked quietly, “That was what Daerada Adrahil wrote. And that it was hard to tell the difference between the plague symptoms, and the poisoning effects.” 

“Yes,” Elladan confirmed, “I had to go home at that point, and Melpomaen went with me. Brand and Eyvin went back to see their families, so it was just Theli, Adrahil, and Adrahil’s men trying to figure out what was one and what was the other. It didn’t help that Theli got sick in what turned out to be a town afflicted with plague. It couldn’t have been the plague, of course, because elves can’t catch human illnesses, but it still confused the issue such that it took them another six months to figure out which was which.” 

“It’s not like I did it on purpose, Elladan,” Theli protested. 

Thranduil, meanwhile, felt his heart clench for a moment. 

Glorfindel, evidently thinking along the same lines, pointed out gravely, “Elves can’t catch the plague. But peredhil can.” 

“Yes,” Elladan agreed impatiently, “But as we said, Glorfindel, I wasn’t there.” 

“No,” Glorfindel said disapprovingly, keeping his gaze on Theli, “You weren’t, elfling.” 

Theli paled slightly, “It was probably just food poisoning,” he argued. 

“Were the symptoms consistent with the plague, Ecthelion?” Thranduil asked, feeling a bit shaken that he very easily could have lost Theli to a human disease before learning that the younger elf was part-human, and Thranduil’s own cousin. 

“Well, yes, but . . .” 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Thranduil resolved. 

“It doesn’t need to be talked over, it wasn’t that great a matter!” Theli objected. 

“Or we could talk about it now, if you’d prefer?” Thranduil said, shifting the box into his other arm for emphasis while Fileg stifled a laugh behind him. 

“No,” Theli hastened to assure him, “Later is good. Later is great!” 

“Later, then,” Glorfindel agreed, quietly threatening, “And once you had determined which symptoms were those of mass poisoning, where did you go, my elflings?” 

“Khand,” Elladan supplied, “Or rather, Harad and Rhun separately first. Then we ended up meeting at the Sea of Nurnen, where there was this duckweed, a dried version of which was part of the active ingredients in the poison. The rest had come from Khandian servants of the Enemy, so we split up again.” 

“The Sea of Nurnen?” Erestor asked faintly, holding onto his own son all the more tightly as he gasped, “Sweet Valar, Elladan!” 

Thranduil himself had never been that deeply inside Mordor. Some of his father’s spies had, and had returned to tell the tale. But only a few of them. Despite having vowed when he was younger never to be ‘that kind’ of elder, he found himself having to repress the urge to cross his arms disapprovingly. He knew that his eyes and his occasional raised eyebrow betrayed his appalled denunciation of the younger’ elves misadventures. Theli, at the least, had noticed Thranduil’s censure, although the other three seemed to be more focused on the reactions of their respective fathers. Or in Elladan’s case, both Erestor and Glorfindel. 

“It’s not as dangerous as it sounds,” Orophin hastened to assure them all, “We approached through Rhun and Harad respectively, we didn’t journey the length and breadth of Mordor.” 

“We can – and will – discuss the relative merits of traversing Mordor directly versus approaching via lands controlled by the Enemy’s servants,” Glorfindel said with deceptive reasonability, “But for now, I believe that you were saying you split up, some of you going back to Gondor by way of Harad, and others of you continuing into Khand?” 

“Yes,” Elladan said, “We managed to parlay the contacts we’d made as Haradric merchants and disaffected Gondorian sell-swords into an introduction to sell Rhunnic spices in Khand.” 

Thranduil noted, not for the first time, that Elladan seemed bizarrely almost pleased with himself. The King supposed that what they’d accomplished had been rather admirable. Thranduil could tell that Fileg beside him was ruefully impressed, even though the King’s gwador kept the expression on his face suitably serious. 

Of the Elder Set, Glorfindel, at least, likely wouldn’t stint on praise for their achievements. But not until after he’d gotten finished blistering their ears! Thranduil didn’t envy them that; but he didn’t feel that badly for them, either. Even so, Thranduil still had more sympathy for them than almost anyone else in the room. 

“So Orophin, Melpomaen, Cilben, Eyvin, and Brand went back to Gondor with the duckweed from the Sea of Nurnen, to start trying to find an antidote,” Elladan continued, “While Theli, Adrahil, Tarostar and I went into Khand.” 

There Elladan’s voice broke for just a moment. He glanced toward Theli, who shook his head ever so slightly. Then Elladan continued more somberly, “Eventually we got the information we needed from Khand. We brought some of the Khandian golden fire flowers back with us to finish developing our own version of the poison – and the antidote.” 

Orophin’s grey-green eyes flickered back and forth between Elladan and Theli, before he took up the thread of the narrative to recollect, “We were successful at coming up with an antidote to the poison the Enemy agents had been adding to the rivers and wells of various Gondorian towns. Because we couldn’t be sure that the antidote itself didn’t have any negative consequences, we had Prince Angelimir instruct his vassals, and the Council of Gondor, that it shouldn’t be added to the water supply of any settlements until after a death from the poison could be confirmed.” 

“It’s too difficult to say whether some individuals will have a bad reaction to a substance with so many different ingredients,” Theli explained, seemingly glad to be distracted by the minutiae of his profession as a healer again, “and . . .” 

“There will be time for such details later, Ecthelion,” Rochendil interrupted, redirecting Theli’s healer-like discourse with great patience and the ease of long practice, “For now I believe that we would all like to know where else you went, and what else you did.” 

“Oh, umm, I don’t think I remember what came next,” Theli said tentatively. Uncharacteristically, he looked away from Glorfindel and Rochendil and down to the floor before turning his gaze towards his comrade, “Elladan?” 

“You stayed in Dol Amroth with Adrahil and Tarostar, to help with the antidotes,” Elladan said reassuringly, “The rest of us went back to Rhun and Harad, to spread knowledge of the antidote to the contacts we had made there. Then we reunited in Gondor, and went back into Harad again, after more information for Mithrandir.” 

“What information, Elladan?” Glorfindel queried impatiently. 

“Ingredients and an antidote for a new poison,” Elladan quickly supplied, “That’s how poisons work, unfortunately. You make an antidote to one, and then those with foul intent just come up with another. Dashed annoying.” 

“I’m sure,” Glorfindel said sardonically, “So, Harad?” 

“Harad,” Elladan agreed, “And then that was the last trip, for some years. Until there was a new poison again, and the Steward of Gondor almost died from it. That was when Mithrandir asked us to go see what we could find, again.” 

“And that is when Daerada Adrahil was captured in Mordor, and taken to Minas Morgul?” Faramir inquired, appearing, to Thranduil’s slight irritation, to be vastly intrigued by the whole story. 

“Yes,” Orophin confirmed with a wince, “We rescued Adrahil, but were pursued too closely. Elladan and I rode off to the north as a decoy, and were rescued by patrols coming after a particularly savage band of orcs from Lothlorien and the Greenwood.” 

“You were rescued only after you had both been injured quite gravely, ion-nin, daerion-nin,” Celeborn reminded his son and grandson in a pained fashion. 

“Yes, only after,” Elladan agreed, “But Theli, Melpomaen, and the others were able to get Adrahil to safety.” 

“And you, my dear nephew, and my dear baby brother, the two of you refused to give anyone a straight answer as to why you’d been where you were,” Orophin’s older brother Haldir observed critically. 

Glorfindel chuckled darkly, “And for good reason.” 

“Yes,” agreed Elladan, who apparently hadn’t realized that Glorfindel was being sarcastic. Turning to Celeborn, Elladan appealed, “Daerada, you can’t argue that you wouldn’t have been upset with Mithrandir over this.” 

“No, I can’t,” Celeborn said, looking not only furious but also hurt. As did Glorfindel, for that matter. Which made some sense to Thranduil, as Mithrandir had been a trusted friend to both older ellyn. 

“However, Elladan daerion-nin,” Celeborn continued, his mien loving but stern, “My being understandably angry and frustrated with Mithrandir for having been so ruthless and foolish as to risk you – all four of you - in no way excuses you for keeping this dangerous secret. Nor any of the rest of you, either. Orophin should have told me the truth after he was rescued. And Ecthelion . . .” Celeborn turned his attention to Theli, “You should have replied to my letters.” 

“I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t see how that would have helped,” Theli countered. 

“And so you have avoided me for decades,” Celeborn criticized. 

“About that,” Thranduil interjected, “I didn’t know why he was avoiding you, cousin. I thought that Theli must have done something foolish that he was procrastinating about admitting to, but nothing like this. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let him keep on with it.” 

“I’d realized that, Thranduil,” Celeborn replied, a soft look in his eyes despite the seriousness of the subject, “But I do appreciate your confirming it, nonetheless.” 

*And what a change from an age hence,* Glorfindel silently teased Thranduil, even as he said aloud, “Since Mithrandir is not here but the four of you are, you will have to pay the full consequences for your actions and decisions without his defense. But first, I am interested to hear how you managed to impersonate human traders well enough to fool hardened Enemy warriors and orcs.” 

“Oh, well, with skin and eye dyes, Adrahil and I could make all of us look enough like humans to fool just about anyone,” Elladan explained, again sounding a little proud of himself despite how pale he’d just turned at the beginning of Glorfindel’s last speech. 

“Well,” Orophin said with a faint smile, “All of us except for Melpomaen. He looked too much like an elf, no matter what we used to disguise him. So we usually dressed him as a Haradric woman, in the concealing veils, and no one was the wiser.” 

“Oh, thank you ever so much for bringing that up, Orophin,” Melpomaen said wryly, while blushing. 

“There’s no shame in such a deception to aid in a mission, grandson,” Glorfindel bluntly assured Melpomaen, while at the same time seeking out Thranduil’s sapphire eyes. Once he had the elven King’s attention, Glorfindel moved his gaze slightly to the box under Thranduil’s arm. 

Thranduil raised a brow, *Now? Really?* he inquired silently. 

*It’s waited long enough, student-mine.* 

That much was true. Thranduil felt a little badly for Theli, having the truth come out in this way. Since this should be a happy moment for Theli, and the younger elf was already in a great deal of trouble. But the trouble was almost entirely of Theli’s own making. Still, Thranduil was rather glad that he and Theli had shared a joyful moment of discovery earlier in the evening, before the truth of why Theli had been avoiding Celeborn came out. 

“It’s not surprising that Elladan was able to make all three of you look human,” Thranduil spoke up, determinedly ignoring the ‘please not now’ look he was getting from Theli, “Since all of you except Melpomaen have some human blood.” 

That announcement garnered a baffled silence from most of the room. 

Thranduil motioned Theli towards him. Wild-eyed, his new-found cousin obeyed. 

*Courage, cousin,* Thranduil silently encouraged, with the very gentlest of touches to Theli’s worried mind. 

The younger elf mustered a smile as he came to stand beside Thranduil. 

“Fileg,” Thranduil called to his other kinsman, “Hold this casket for me, please.” 

Once the box was settled in Fileg’s hands, Thranduil nodded towards Theli, “Open it, cousin.” 

“Are you sure?” Theli asked with a shy smile, “It was you who figured it all out, Thranduil.” 

“We’ll do it together then,” Thranduil replied with a smile of his own, silently signaling to his youngest son, *Legolas, pay attention. I think that this will please you, too.* 

“Together,” Theli agreed, his midnight blue eyes shining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Thranduil did during the War of the Last Alliance which resulted in him worrying Celeborn, Rochendil, Glorfindel, his friends, and almost everyone else who knew him then, is explained in Emma’s story “Hope Beyond Reason,” available here on AO3: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347656/chapters/33114771
> 
> Those specific events are discussed in Chapter 3 of that story, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347656/chapters/33556956
> 
> I am borrowing that series of events from Emma and Kaylee, with their kind permission. In my AU, Thranduil was caught at his reckless errands by Glorfindel, and never captured, which diverts from Emma and Kaylee’s AU, wherein he was captured. 
> 
> I highly recommend that you check out “Hope Beyond Reason” if you are a Thranduil fan, as well as Emma’s and Kaylee’s other Thranduil stories! See the author’s note at the top of this chapter for where to find those stories.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Theli’s perspective, it’s wonderful to be part of a larger family again, but the timing could have been better! The last time he had family members who were this angry with him, he was banished forever. Thranduil does his best to help Theli separate the past from the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More stories about Elured and Elurin of Doriath, who are Theli’s and Haldir’s, Orophin’s and Rumil’s grandfathers in my AU, are available in “Tales of the Lost Twins.” Please read all warnings. This story can be found here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/535929/chapters/951528
> 
> A/N 2: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various of the stories in my Desperate Hours AU series, gen version: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 3: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousins Fileg and Luthavar, his friends Linwe and Veassen, General Rochendil, Master Rochirion, Mistress Saelrien, and Lady Silwen belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. Please read all warnings. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quotes:
> 
> “If you don't believe in ghosts, you've never been to a family reunion.” –   
> Ashleigh Brilliant 
> 
> “We accept the love we think we deserve.” ― Stephen Chbosky 
> 
> “Family quarrels have a total bitterness unmatched by others. Yet it sometimes happens that they also have a kind of tang, a pleasantness beneath the unpleasantness, based on the tacit understanding that this is not for keeps; that any limb you climb out on will still be there later for you to climb back.” ~Mignon McLaughlin
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 18: 
> 
> Once the box was settled in Fileg’s hands, Thranduil nodded towards Theli, “Open it, cousin.” 
> 
> “Are you sure?” Theli asked with a shy smile, “It was you who figured it all out, Thranduil.” 
> 
> “We’ll do it together then,” Thranduil replied with a smile of his own, silently signaling to his youngest son, *Legolas, pay attention. I think that this will please you, too.* 
> 
> “Together,” Theli agreed, his midnight blue eyes shining.

Their interested audience numbered well over a dozen, but it was Celeborn whose eyes Thranduil sought out after he and Theli lifted the lid of the casket, even as the King directed, “Here, Theli, show them the family heirlooms your grandmother left for you, the rings and chains of office which had belonged to your grandfather Eldun - the Witch of the Northern Woods -and his twin, Elboron, when they were discovered as foundlings in the forest by the Nandor whose village they later joined.” 

“Elboron was Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil’s great-grandfather,” Erestor explained for those who hadn’t known, “And he was one of my lord Elrond’s guards during the War of Wrath.” 

“A guard whom I never saw clearly,” Celeborn murmured, his noble features clearly reflecting love, fear, and a hope so desperate and long-suppressed that it made Thranduil almost regret not having come to Celeborn as soon as he first beheld the jewels and realized what they might mean. 

The silver-haired lord walked to the casket and gently picked up the two small mithril rings, one in each powerful hand. 

“My niece Nimloth gifted her sons with these, on their sixth name day,” Celeborn explained reverently, “Elured and Elurin wore them every day, the one adornment that their nursemaids didn’t have to coax them into donning.”

Celeborn looked up from the rings to meet Thranduil’s eyes, “Your grandmother Neldiel recommended the jeweler, Thranduil-nin. Your father’s and your uncle’s and aunt’s rings were crafted by the same ellon.” 

“And the golden bejeweled chains of office were my King Turgon’s gift to the twin princes of Doriath,” Glorfindel said boldly, all evidence of his earlier pain at the loss of his friend the jeweler and his King and kin now hidden, “I saw them, ‘ere they were sent to Dior in honor of his sons’ birth. And I bear witness now that these chains passed from Eldun of the Wood to his grandson Ecthelion and great-great nephews are one and the same as those gifted to Elured and Elurin Diorchil by Gondolin.” 

Then Glorfindel nodded to one of his lieutenants, Advirion, a sandy-haired ellon whom Thranduil now recalled had once been the youngest of Dior Eluchil’s guards. 

Lieutenant Advirion stepped forward and asked, “Captain, as I told you and Lord Erestor earlier this evening, I can bear witness that Princes Elured and Elurin were wearing these golden chains the morning that the Kinslayers attacked.” 

The normally solemn ellon smiled faintly, and then added, “In fact, I can bear witness that Prince Elured complained mightily about putting on that particular chain, a scant two hours before the attack began.” 

Celeborn managed a nod of thanks and even a small smile, “That does sound right for that particular nephew of mine. Who later served our Elrond, though he did not want me to know it.” 

The Lord of East Lorien then looked to another of Glorfindel’s lieutenants, Drystan Lendahyelion, who had served first Ereinion and then Elrond. 

“Drystan,” Celeborn inquired, his voice strained with hope and fear, “You were friendly with Elboron of the Nandor. What was he like?” 

“An older, less refined version of your great-great nephew Elros, Lord Celeborn,” Drystan said ruefully, “Curse me for not putting it all together sooner, but he was. Black-haired, gray-eyed, quick to get into a fight and quicker still to make friends,” shaking his head, his ash-blond warrior’s braids glittering with sea glass beads in the light of the fire and the lanterns, Drystan continued, “When Elboron spoke Sindarin, it was usually with a Nandorin accent. But every so often, he’d say something, or do something . . . and it would be clear that he’d had some of a high lord’s training. I just never put it all together before.” 

Glorfindel put his hand on his lieutenant’s shoulder, “Why would anyone have been looking for a prince of Doriath amongst the wood elves? You have no reason to blame yourself, Drystan.” 

“I looked,” Celeborn said brokenly, “with my nephew Amdir, Nimloth’s brother. We looked for years, in every village of the Laiquendi and the Nandor, and in every village of the Men. Every village, every way-station, every hunting party, every peddler we could find, we asked if they’d seen two seven year old peredhil. Every single elf and Man we asked . . . they all said no.” 

“I’m sorry, Lord Celeborn,” said Theli with the gentlest sympathy, “My grandda Eldun wanted nothing to do with the world beyond his villages and his people. Almost every one of us did as he asked . . . if he’d asked them not to tell who he was . . . before, well, they wouldn’t have told.” 

Celeborn managed a pained smile and a careful squeeze of Theli’s shoulder in thanks. 

“Almost every one . . . except you?” Thranduil teased, partly to lighten the moment and partly because it was hard to resist. 

Theli shrugged, “I always wanted to be a healer, to know everything there was to know about how to save lives and make people healthy and happy again. I never tried to hide that, and I knew I’d have to leave the village to do it. That Grandda Eldun never listened when I talked wasn’t my fault.” 

“In that . . . he may well have taken after his great-grandfather, my great-uncle Elu Thingol,” Celeborn said, grief, love, and regret plain in his sonorous voice, “For Elu was a great King, but . . . not always a good listener.” 

“My grandfather Nallos wasn’t always a good listener either,” Tauriel spoke up, leaving Eilunwen’s side for long enough to share the story she’d told Thranduil with all of them. 

“Daerada Celeborn,” Arwen the Queen said, an opened book in her arms, “This portrait of Dior Eluchil and his family in King Elendil’s history of the First Age is copied from an original drawn by Mistress Saelrien, our Erestor’s maternal grandmother and chief nursemaid to Princess Elwing, and before her, her brothers Elured and Elurin.” 

“Thank you, Daeriel,” Celeborn said, taking the book gently from Arwen’s arms and motioning his adopted sons and their wives, and Theli, closer to look at the illustration. 

“You, too, Thranduil,” Celeborn added, “and Legolas, Thalion, Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir.” 

Cradling the book carefully in one arm, Celeborn pointed to Dior Eluchil with the pointer finger of his other hand, “You see, Dior had his mother’s dark hair and the gray eyes of both of his parents, but he had his father Beren’s pert nose.” 

Celeborn looked up with a smile and then with the same finger tapped the end of Theli’s nose, “You have it, too, Ecthelion. And you look very much like my cousin-by-law Beren, when you smile. You even have his wavy hair, just a handful of shades lighter than his golden-brown.” 

“I . . . I didn’t know that,” Theli said wonderingly. 

“And I didn’t realize it, all the more fool I,” Celeborn said, his voice and manner full of deep apology as well as affection and regret. Then he continued, “And, Rumil, see here? The shape of your great-grandfather Elured’s – Elboron’s – eyes? You see them every day in the mirror.” 

Thranduil watched as Celeborn continued to look back and forth between his new-found great-great-great nephews and the portrait of his niece Nimloth and her family. The King of the Greenwood was very happy for Celeborn’s adopted sons, and even more so for Theli. And he was very proud that he had been able to help give his beloved cousin Celeborn this gift. But mingled with the joy and the pride was, to Thranduil’s dismay, a small bit of jealousy. 

When Thranduil had been a small elfling, Celeborn had always kept a special eye on him. Thranduil’s grandfather Celepharn had been one of Celeborn’s best friends. Celeborn had loved Thranduil’s father Oropher and Oropher’s brother Vehiron as if they were his own nephews, and Thranduil as well. 

In the wake of Oropher’s death, Thranduil had been blessed with the fatherly affections of not only Rochendil, Rochirion, Nestorion, and his uncles, but also with Celeborn’s love and support. Elrond’s, too, but Elrond was more of a young uncle to Thranduil, a mentor and a beloved elder cousin and tutor rather than a partner in crime, but not a father. None of that affection and support had ever come close to taking Oropher’s place in Thranduil’s heart. But he had still relied on Celeborn’s love and guidance, and appreciated it greatly. 

When Thranduil and Minaethiel had agreed to foster Thalion, it had been intimidating and upsetting to Thranduil, that Celeborn hadn’t approved. That he had thought fostering an elfling was too much for Thranduil to take on, along with marriage and kingship. 

But nonetheless, Celeborn had promised Thranduil his support, and his love, and he had been true to his word. He had been like a great-uncle to Thalion, and had become yet more like another father to Thranduil, even after he and Galadriel adopted Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil. But still . . . Thranduil had been jealous, then. He had not entirely liked sharing Celeborn with three new elflings. 

It had ushered in a new stage of Thranduil’s life . . . as a father together with Celeborn, as their young elflings grew to ellyn together, sharing summers together and becoming firm life-time friends in the process. Thranduil had come to see another side of Celeborn then, as his father-like cousin became his friend on a more equal footing, as well as his mentor. 

And so . . . it wasn’t that Thrandui had had less of Celeborn, when he had adopted his sons. Maybe less of Celeborn’s time, yes . . . but Celeborn had been more heart-whole, after he adopted Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil. Thranduil, burdened by his own pain after the War, hadn’t noticed until later, but Celeborn had been deeply saddened after the death of his nephew Amdir and his cousin Oropher, whom he’d also viewed as his own. 

*Thranduil,* spoke Celeborn lovingly in his strong silvered mind voice, *Thanks to you, I have the children of my great-nephews back. Something I’d given up hoping for, though never wishing for. But you will always be a son of my heart, Thranduil. You were the first elfling who became like a son to me, even before Elrond – for Elrond was Galadriel’s heart-son long before he was mine.* 

Thranduil looked up to meet his cousin’s emerald eyes, and smiled back, returning the loving words with a wordless rush of affection and trust. And in that moment, Thranduil realized that he wasn’t losing some portion of Celeborn’s affection . . . but rather getting a Celeborn who loved him the same, but who was more heart-whole, who had more love to give. If someone could give Thranduil back his lost children . . . he would have more love to give, too. But nothing short of sailing would bring Thranduil’s lost children back, and he wasn’t ready to think of that. Not yet.

While Thranduil had been ruminating, his sons and Celeborn’s grandchildren –Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen and Aragorn (by marriage) – had been congratulating their adoptive uncles, and even more so Theli, who was now known to be their cousin by blood as well as ties of affection. 

All of the elves who were survivors of Doriath, even those who were not Celeborn’s kin, had drawn closer to share in the warmth and joy of the discovery. Rochendil, Rochirion, Lieutenant Advirion of Imladris, and Brombellas, Lieutenant Fenion, and Lady Irimanel of Lorien, had all gathered to add their good wishes to the newly reunited family. This story, after all, was their story, too. Families separated by the Fall of Doriath, somehow finding one another again after years or even Ages apart. 

That, and, as Thranduil knew, being a member of the royal family meant that an elf was important to a whole kingdom of elves, including many he’d never personally even met. Elured and Elurin of Doriath had belonged not just to their own family but to all of Doriath. And at least Lieutenant Advirion seemed to feel as if some guilt of his for having failed them had been relieved by knowing that they’d survived, and that their descendants were happy and well-respected elves. Captain Brombellas, who had been one of Celeborn’s guards, seemed to share in Advirion’s relieved wonder. 

Thranduil didn’t think that Rochendil and Rochirion felt quite the same, since they hadn’t even been on duty at Menegroth the day that the Kinslayers attacked. But the two brothers had known both Celeborn, his adopted sons, and Theli for a long time, and seemed genuinely pleased for all of them. 

Rochirion, who had bonded with Theli over the years through their mutual love of horses, hounds, and hawks, touched his forehead to Theli’s and said kindly, “I am happy for you, young one. And I am happy to know more of why it is that you have always reminded me of our Thranduil.” 

Rochendil clapped Theli on the shoulder, and told him, “And I am happy for you because if anyone needs more family looking out for him, it is you, Ecthelion.” 

It was clear to Thranduil that his general was not entirely teasing. Both from Rochendil’s tone and manner, and also from the way he went from congratulating Theli to congratulating Celeborn, and glanced back at Theli while saying something to Celeborn too softly for Thranduil to hear. 

Celeborn’s reply was a nod, as he too looked back at Theli. Thranduil pondered whether he should speak up, about that. Yes, Celeborn would have a say in Theli’s life, being his great-great etc. uncle, but Theli was Thranduil’s cousin, and his friend. Theli had been Thranduil’s friend first, and he mostly trusted Thranduil. While, on the other hand, Theli was still a little bit afraid of Celeborn. Foolishly so, but honestly so. Given that, Thranduil rather thought that he himself, rather than Celeborn, should be in charge of imposing consequences for Theli’s rampant stupidity in going on nine different missions for Mithrandir with only Elladan, Orophin, Melpomaen, and some humans for company. 

Before Thranduil could decide whether he wanted to speak up about that, Celeborn gathered his sons and Theli beside him again. With one arm around Rumil and the other around a tentative but clearly pleased Theli, Celeborn told them, “I wish I had known of you from the hour of your birth. But I am grateful to have been blessed by having all of you in my life.” 

“You three, my dearly beloved adopted sons,” Celeborn said, addressing first Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil, “have gotten the raising that you should have had as royal lords of Doriath, by virtue of being my sons. My dear nephew Ecthelion, however, although offered opportunities to partake of the same education,” Celeborn gave Theli a look of mixed fondness, apology, and approbation, “somehow always found himself otherwise occupied. That will have to change, nephew-mine.” 

“Change?” Theli asked, growing visibly uncomfortable with Celeborn’s arm around him. 

“Yes, elfling,” Celeborn kindly but inflexibly informed Theli, “It is important to me that you be helped to learn everything you need to know as a scion of the Houses of Elu and Elmo. And that you be aided in mastering all of the skills and graces requisite of a royal lord. You will come back to East Lorien with us when we leave Minas Tirith, and we shall begin then.” 

“East Lorien?” Theli repeated uneasily, while at the same time looking almost desperately to Thranduil as he protested, “But if I have to learn all of that, then I would really rather go home to do it! Please!” he implored. 

Thranduil prepared to intervene, only to be cut off by Celeborn. 

“I am sure that Thranduil will be happy to have you visit him, once you are no longer in disgrace for your near-suicidal trips into enemy lands with your cousins,” Celeborn said firmly, “But you will be coming home with me to East Lorien for now, Ecthelion. And staying with me, until and unless I give you my leave to travel.” 

Theli stepped away from Celeborn unsteadily. Wide-eyed and short of breath, he protested, “Please, I just want to go home!” 

“It’s fine, Theli,” Thranduil spoke up reassuringly, “Calm down. As I told you earlier tonight, you’ll come home with us to the Greenwood when we leave Minas Tirith. I’ll make sure that you learn everything you need to know to properly comport yourself as the great-grandson of a king.” 

“That’s a very kind, kingly, and cousinly offer, Thranduil,” Celeborn countered with quiet patience, “However, the right to determine where Ecthelion bides is mine, as I am the head of our family on Middle Earth.” 

A family which included Thranduil, which Thranduil knew. Still, Celeborn didn’t know Theli, or what was right for Theli. And now wasn’t necessarily the best time for him to learn, not at the expense of Theli’s peace of mind and happiness. 

So Thranduil spoke up again, “Cousin Celeborn, what is it that Theli does for me and Legolas, in Ithilien-en-Edhil? Besides serving as a healer when one is needed?” 

Thranduil’s point was not that Theli’s services were indispensable. Of course Theli would be missed if he were to go to East Lorien. And there had certainly been times during the Siege when a healer of Theli’s caliber and a warrior of his loyalty had been near indispensable. Enough so that Thranduil had once agreed to spare an elf to go and summon Theli back from Dol Amroth. But Theli’s utility to Thranduil, and to Legolas, was not why the King felt so strongly that Theli should return home with him. 

It was because Celeborn didn’t know most of what Theli did, on a day to day basis, and all the lives he touched. Yes, he was a healer. In fact, he couldn’t not be a healer, any more than Elrond could have. Thranduil knew that; he wasn’t sure that Celeborn did. Theli also drew strength from helping elves and Men to see eye to eye. Thranduil had known that since the War, when Theli had wandered widely amongst all the allied armies, making friends and negotiating deals concerning sales and exchanges of goods and services. In a more recent development, Thranduil had utilized those skills of Theli’s by having him assist Thranduil’s trade envoys to various Mannish and Dwarvish kingdoms during the last half an Age. Celeborn had been present on some of those occasions, but Thranduil wasn’t sure if he understood just how much pleasure and self-worth Theli drew from helping two different sides to find common ground. 

He also wasn’t sure whether Celeborn knew how much time Theli spent training horses, and how much joy he derived from that. Animals generally had much less complicated emotions than elves or Men. Thranduil knew how much he had relied on the emotional support of his four-footed friends growing up. Thranduil’s horses and hounds had not cared whether Thranduil had misspoken at a meeting or done badly at his lessons. They had simply loved Thranduil for how kind he was to them. Thranduil thought that Theli would need that same type of support as he went about learning how to be a royal lord. And Thranduil wasn’t sure if Celeborn understood the depth to which Theli would still need to be himself, in all of these important ways, even while learning how to behave so as to be a credit to their family. 

Even though Thranduil’s verbal question had been short and relatively vague, Celeborn knew his younger cousin the King of the Greenwood well enough to know that Thranduil would not have spoken at all, had Thranduil not felt strongly about the matter. So the silver-haired lord of Lorien paused in thought, resting his emerald-eyed gaze first on Thranduil, and then returning his attention to Theli. 

Whether it was realizing that Thranduil was right about Celeborn not knowing very much about Theli’s daily life, or whether it was that Theli was doing a spectacular job of looking deeply uncomfortable and almost frightened at the prospect of Celeborn overruling Thranduil’s offer and taking Theli back to East Lorien with him, Thranduil did not know. But, whatever his reasons, the Lord of Lorien and great-nephew of Elu Thingol, the undisputed head of the family, conceded. 

“You’ve made your point, Thranduil,” Celeborn said at last, his tone loving and wry but also deeply respectful, “Well done.” 

Turning to Theli, Celeborn allowed, “Ecthelion, if you would prefer to accompany Thranduil back to the Greenwood, you have my blessing. Is that your preference?” 

“Yes! I mean, yes, I’d like that, Lord Celeborn, but thank you for your offer to go back and stay with you and my cousins in East Lorien,” babbled Theli with great relief. 

“Very well,” allowed Celeborn, with another thoughtful glance at Theli, “This means that you must listen to and obey Thranduil, not only as your King, but now also as your elder kinsman. Do you understand that, Ecthelion-my-nephew?” 

Theli nodded, then when it became clear from his silence that Celeborn expected a verbal answer, he said, “Yes, Sir, I understand.” 

Thranduil very highly doubted that, but since he’d have ample time to explain the concept to Theli, he didn’t bother to say so. 

Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil appeared disappointed that their cousin wouldn’t be returning to their home with them, but not even Haldir ventured an objection. To Thranduil’s eyes, Rochendil seemed dubious as to whether his heart-son had made the right decision by intervening, which was unfortunate, but not entirely surprising. Linwe’s expression was unreadable, but Thranduil had known ahead of time that his older gwador wouldn’t be happy. Thranduil would just have to deal with that later. Fileg at least seemed pleased enough. Most importantly, so did Legolas and Thalion. 

Glorfindel was suppressing a smile. *I second your cousin, Thranduil. Well done* he praised silently, and added, *You have my support, in this. Whatever you need, whatever he needs. I believe that my dear lord and heart-grandson Elrond would give you his support, were he still here. In his absence, I pledge my own. And I am sure that I can speak for Elladan, as well, and that Elrohir will follow his twin’s will in this.* 

Thranduil nodded back to Glorfindel in thanks, but most of his attention moved to Theli, who still seemed a little unsteady. 

The topic of conversation moved back to what Elladan, Theli, Orophin, and Melpomaen had done. Glorfindel, after consulting with the rulers of the other elven and kingdoms and Aragorn and Arwen, scheduled a meeting for the following day to go into any added intelligence the four elves could bring to bear on the current political and diplomatic situation. 

The planned meeting made sense to Thranduil, but Lord Erestor’s continuing haranguing of the four younger elves did not. Particularly not as Theli’s face grew paler and paler. 

“Excuse us,” Thranduil said at last, striding rapidly towards Theli and taking the younger elf by the elbow, “We’ll be back presently.” 

He guided the uncomplaining Theli to the nearest empty chamber, a withdrawing room with nothing in it except a currently empty sideboard table. Thranduil put his other hand under Theli’s other elbow, and then lifted the glaze-eyed Theli to sit up on the sideboard, such that Theli was looking down at Thranduil’s face rather than up at him. 

As Thranduil had intended, the change in perspective broke Theli out of his strained, quiet state. It was a trick that Thranduil had learned from dealing with his own children. A change in perspective, height-wise, was a good way to get someone’s attention. And one that didn’t require yelling or swatting. 

“What’s wrong, mellon-nin?” Thranduil asked Theli quietly, “Celeborn has agreed that you will come back with me to the Greenwood. You know that you have nothing to fear from me, Theli.” 

“I know, I do,” Theli agreed breathlessly, “But everyone is so angry! Even you. The last time I had family, and they were this angry with me, I was banished forever.” 

“Oh, Theli, cousin, I’m sorry,” Thranduil said, lifting his hands up to squeeze Theli’s upper arms in a gesture of reassurance, “I promise you, that won’t happen. Your grandfather should never have given you cause to fear such a thing. I promise you that I won’t banish you, or even exile you, not ever again. Theli, you have my word. You know that it is good. Calm down. You heard cousin Celeborn, did you not? I’m responsible for you, and I promise that won’t happen.” 

Theli shook his head, “You can’t make that promise. What if I do something terribly illegal?” 

Thranduil couldn’t help but laugh at that. Then he gently but wryly teased, “Don’t you mean, what if you do something terribly illegal again? Well, most, although not all, of the terribly illegal things you’ve done in the past have been done at least in part to protect me or mine. Whether or not we actually needed or wanted your protection, your intentions were always good. I’ll forgive you your future misdeeds, as I’ve forgiven your past ones. I’m still your friend, and that is what friends do. I’m your family, too, and that is what family does. That is what our family does, we will never fail you the way your grandfather Eldun did. Never. No matter what you do, I will not send you away. Even if I have to sentence you to house arrest, or to remaining in some Greenwood’ elf’s custody for the next yen.” 

Theli managed a slight huff of a chuckle at that, and seemed to be calming down as he jested back, “I might prefer banishment, to that. . . .” 

“Too bad,” Thranduil replied with blunt humor. Then, with a gentle tug to a lock of Theli’s shoulder-length hair, he asked, “What else are you afraid of, mellon-nin? You might as well tell me. I won’t think less of you for it, or tell anyone else either, unless you give me leave. I promise.” 

Theli looked down at Thranduil, his wide midnight blue eyes still deeply troubled, “I’m worried that this, finding out about this going into the Enemy lands, that this will be too much.” 

“Too much . . . in what sense?” Thranduil asked, still not really understanding what Theli was getting at. 

“For Master Nestorion, I mean,” Theli continued worriedly, “He doesn’t like it when I do this. Things like this, I mean. Not-careful things. And . . . and thinking . . . thinking of myself as . . . as, um, expendable, just because I don’t have a family except my cousins, who don’t really need me because they have parents. He doesn’t like that.” 

“I can’t say as I like it, either,” said Thranduil, still struggling a bit to follow, “Nestorion will be angry with you for what you’ve done, Theli. But he loves you. He’ll forgive you.” 

Theli shook his head, “I don’t know that he will. I’m afraid that he might just give up, think I’m too much work. Think that I’ve let him down too many times, and just wash his hands of me.” 

Thranduil blinked in surprise, then repressed a strong urge to flick Theli’s ear, “You’re wrong,” he said instead, and then continued quite forcefully, “Nestorion would never do something like that.”

“But how can you know that, Thranduil?” Theli asked, hope mingled with uncertainty in his eyes. Theli didn’t actually say so, but Thranduil heard more than a hint of, ‘You’ve never done anything as stupid as what I’ve done, so how would you know?’ 

“Budge over,” Thranduil advised Theli, then used a hand to vault up to sit beside him. 

“Listen to me, cousin,” Thranduil counseled, putting a reassuring arm around Theli’s shoulders, “And stop making assumptions. I know that Nestorion will forgive you for this, because he’s forgiven me worse.” 

“But you’re you,” Theli said, as if that was a cogent argument instead of borderline nonsense, “And besides, whatever you did probably wasn’t anywhere near as stupid as this.” 

Thranduil laughed, “Oh, it was. In its own way. Do you remember hearing, during the War of the Last Alliance, of a ‘Silent Hunter’ who would sneak over into the Enemy camps, and slay as many as a hundred orcs a night?” 

Taken aback by that apparent non sequitur, Theli replied, “Yes, actually. That story made the rounds, and it was a good one. But then the Enemy soldiers and the orcs eventually stopped talking about it, and we did, too.” 

“They stopped talking about it because Glorfindel caught me at it one night and nearly shook me senseless,” Thranduil explained wryly, “Then he, my father, Nestorion, Elrond, Celeborn, my uncles, and my captain all had a big meeting about what I’d done. They were discussing whether I’d be able to stay and keep fighting in the War, or be sent home in disgrace. And I wasn’t even allowed to be at the meeting.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” said Theli loyally, “You should at least have been allowed to say your part.” 

Thranduil chuckled, “I don’t know as that would have helped. I might have botched it as badly as Elladan mucked up defending the lot of you tonight.” 

Theli managed a wry half smile, “Elladan does like to talk. It’s usually better to let him. What he comes up with to do if you don’t let him talk tends to be worse.” 

“I hope that I never have to find that out for myself,” Thranduil said honestly, “But I do want you to know, Theli, that I know what I am speaking of when I promise you that Nestorion will forgive you for everything you’ve done. My father forgave me for what I did during the War, and so did Nestorion, and all the rest of them.” It had taken more time in some cases than others, but Thranduil didn’t want to trouble Theli with that fear just yet. 

“Oh. Well, I suppose that you do know, then,” said Theli, with a slightly more genuine smile, “Thank you for telling me about that, Thranduil. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” 

“I know,” Thranduil replied, with quiet confidence. Then he smiled and pulled Theli a little closer to him, “I think it is right that you should know about my greatest mistake during the War, though. In a round about way, it’s why we met, you and I. The latrine digging duty we met on was part – a very small part – of my punishment for that mistake.” 

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” Theli replied, relaxing only a little against Thranduil’s shoulder, but not resisting Thranduil’s gesture of affection the way he had Celeborn’s. 

“Well, now you know. And you seem calmer now, but still troubled. What else are you worried about, Theli mellon-nin?” 

“Nothing else, really,” said Theli, summoning another smile of thanks for Thranduil, even though there was still a shadow in his eyes. 

“Liar,” Thranduil accused fondly, “You would be a fool if you weren’t worried about how you’re going to be punished for this. And I know that you aren’t a fool. Am I wrong?” 

Theli chuckled ruefully, “You’re not wrong, but that’s a little fear. I’m sorry that Celeborn has made you responsible for me, but . . .”

“Don’t be. I’m willing to be responsible for you,” Thranduil said, emphasizing that by firmly tugging Theli closer to him again, “And, while you’re not that difficult, you are . . . unique, and my friend. I don’t think that Celeborn or even Glorfindel would know when you are afraid, the way that I usually do. So I wouldn’t want them to be responsible for you.” 

Theli blinked in surprise, then said, as if he were touched, “That’s very kind of you, Thranduil. I really appreciate it. But I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re not a burden,” Thranduil replied patiently, “You’re my friend, and my cousin, and I am glad to have you stay with me, and to help you learn everything that you need to know.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it. Really,” Thranduil insisted with a half-smile when Theli started to laugh again, “Don’t. That’s how you can thank me.” 

“Well enough,” agreed the grinning Theli. 

Thranduil released the younger elf’s shoulders with a gentle shake, and then asked, “So, you’re worried about the consequences for taking nine merry jaunts into Enemy lands with only eight other idiots?” 

“Yes, I’m worried about that,” Theli admitted with relative calm, “Although it’s a little worry, besides being worried about being banished, or Nestorion never forgiving me. Those were big worries.” 

“Well, that’s good. Why don’t you tell me what, exactly, you’re worried about, so that I can tell you whether you’re being foolish again, or not?” 

“I’m not afraid of unpleasant chores,” said Theli matter-of-factly, “or even of Glorfindel’s excoriating lectures, fearsome as they are. I’m not looking forward to all of that, mind you, but I’m not afraid. I am a little afraid about being confined to the North Hall again, and not being able to go out into the forest, or to visit my cousins in East Lorien and . . . and Imladris, or my friends in Gondor.” 

“That won’t happen again,” Thranduil was glad to be able to assure Theli, “I can’t imagine Glorfindel calling for close confinement over this. But if he does, or if someone else does, I’ll intercede.” 

“But this was arguably stupider,” Theli worried, “And I was in your Army, for the last of those nine trips.” 

“Were you? I hadn’t realized that. How did you get permission to go in the first place?” 

“I told Captain Eriston that I had to take an indefinite leave of absence because I had been asked to undertake a mission on behalf of our human allies. He must have assumed that you or Legolas had asked me to undertake the mission, because he said it was fine.” 

“Sweet Belain, what a fool,” Thranduil complained, “It’s a pity that he’s also one of my best battlefield commanders.” 

“He’s not that bad.” 

“Oh, really?” Thranduil said archly, “Did I ever thank you for drugging him after he tried to overrule my youngest son on sending support to the east after the Trees told Legolas of an orc incursion?” 

Theli huffed a laugh and smiled ruefully, “No. You had me give up a yen knot, since I had no rank left to loose. Then after Legolas was reassigned, and me with him, Captain Teliemir had me digging ditches and standing extra watches. And then on top of that he had me filling out requisition orders until my hands cramped.” 

“Well, you had just committed assault against a senior officer. You had to be punished for that. But still, thank you. Eriston’s second accepting Legolas’ pulling rank, and obeying Legolas’ orders to take their company east, saved a large number of lives that week.” 

Theli smiled and shook his head, “Well, I took it as a ‘thank you’ that you didn’t let Eriston deal with me himself after I’d drugged him. And also that you likely talked to him about accepting your heir overruling him too, because he didn’t hassle Legolas about the matter, either.” 

“I was very clear with Eriston about listening to Legolas in the future, yes,” Thranduil agreed, “and just as clear about him not being allowed to deal with you.” 

“Right, I took that as a ‘thank you.’” 

Thranduil gave Theli an amused look, “You see, even then, I didn’t trust just anyone with you, or with disciplining you

Theli nodded with relief, then took a deep breath, “I suppose it’s time to go back, and let Erestor yell at me a little more.” 

Thranduil jumped down off the sideboard, and extended a hand back to Theli, “I’ll tell him to stop if he starts in on the same rant again. If he comes up with something new to complain about, you’ll just have to hear him out. It was his scholarly son you took with you in to Mordor, after all. But if he’s just yelling at you for being older than the others again, I’ll do my best to cut that short.” 

Theli accepted the help down and nodded back, still nervous but nowhere near so frightened as he had been. 

“Courage, my friend,” Thranduil urged softly, as he opened the door back into the main room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes Chapter 19: 
> 
> If you liked Thranduil’s story about sneaking into the Enemy camps to slay enemies, then you should check out What Thranduil did during the War of the Last Alliance Emma’s story “Hope Beyond Reason,” available here on AO3: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347656/chapters/33114771
> 
> Those specific events are discussed in Chapter 3 of that story, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347656/chapters/33556956
> 
> I am borrowing that series of events from Emma and Kaylee, with their kind permission. In my AU, Thranduil was caught at his reckless errands by Glorfindel, and never captured, which diverts from Emma and Kaylee’s AU, wherein he was captured. 
> 
> I highly recommend that you check out “Hope Beyond Reason” if you are a Thranduil fan, as well as Emma’s and Kaylee’s other Thranduil stories! See the author’s note at the top of this chapter for where to find those stories. Please read all warnings.


	20. Revelations III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil becomes increasingly appalled by how many times he could have lost Theli before they even learned that they were cousins. Thranduil also learns how old Theli really is (or rather, isn’t). Theli, meanwhile, just wishes that Elladan would stop trying to get him into more trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, his friend Linwe, General Rochendil, Master Rochirion, and Lady Silwen belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please read all warnings. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 3: Thanks to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right!
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “We accept the love we think we deserve.” ― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” - Lois McMaster Bujold
> 
> “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” - George Eliot
> 
> Excerpt from end of Chapter 19: 
> 
> Theli took a deep breath, “I suppose it’s time to go back, and let Erestor yell at me a little more.” 
> 
> Thranduil jumped down off the sideboard, and extended a hand back to Theli, “I’ll tell him to stop if he starts in on the same rant again. If he comes up with something new to complain about, you’ll just have to hear him out. It was his scholarly son you took with you in to Mordor, after all. But if he’s just yelling at you for being older than the others again, I’ll do my best to cut that short.” 
> 
> Theli accepted the help down and nodded back, still nervous but nowhere near so frightened as he had been. 
> 
> “Courage, my friend,” Thranduil urged softly, as he opened the door back into the main room.

There they found Thranduil’s daughter-by-law Rian wiping away tears as she told Princes Faramir and Amrothos about Adrahil of Dol Amroth. 

“We bound up your grandfather’s wounds as well as we could,” she told them, her hand held safely in Thalion’s, “But I still thought he was too badly injured to survive, even if he was right and a rescue was on its way.” 

“You did a good job of patching him up, Rian,” Theli said hearteningly as he bravely took his place between Orophin and Elladan again, “You had all his wounds bandaged, and the poisons treated. We always wondered who had done that for him, in Minas Morgul, of all places. Adrahil said that he had been with two of his beautiful great-aunts. We humored him about it, but I guess he was pretty close to right.” 

Rian smiled through her tears, tough survivor that she was, and said, “Fairly close, yes. Mithrellas was Adrahil’s thirty-two times great-grandmother, and I his first cousin thirty-three times removed.” 

Thranduil had gone back to stand beside Celeborn, although most of his attention was divided between his daughter-by-law and Theli. 

Fileg stepped up to stand at Thranduil’s right again. Inclining his head subtly in Theli’s direction, he quietly asked Thranduil, “How is he holding up?” 

“Mmm. Well enough, now, I think,” Thranduil answered, “We need to have a long discussion about trust, though, he and I.” 

“I’m sure that he’s very much looking forward to that.” 

“He doesn’t know about it yet,” Thranduil said with a wry half-smile, “He needs to finish getting through this first.”

For the moment, ‘this’ had devolved into a review of Adrahil’s wounds and how Elladan and Theli had treated them, mostly while retreating at a gallop. Aragorn and Eowyn appeared fascinated, and Rian was riveted. To Thranduil, she seemed to be finding something cathartic about learning how at least one of her fellow captives in three thousand years had survived. 

How Rian and Mithrellas had stayed sane through nearly three thousand years of captivity, Thranduil did not know. But somehow, they had. Mithrellas had been tired after their more-or-less accidental rescue by Faramir and Melpomaen. Faramir’s ancestress had been ready to sail with the ring-bearers. And a ringbearer Mithrellas had indeed been, even though she had borne Nenya only from Celebrimbor’s forge to Galadriel’s hand. 

Rian, however . . . had wanted to live. Thranduil admired her for that. In fact, Thranduil thought that Rian might be the most sane being whom he had ever met. He supposed that one had to be, to have lived through what she’d lived through and still come out of it practical, kind, and eager for a real life. 

Rian was a few centuries older than Thranduil. She’d been over 2,000 years old when she first became the captive of Sauron’s lieutenants near the beginning of the Third Age. Their capture had been the result of a plot which had succeeded in luring both Mithrellas and Rian to Mordor by dangling the possibility of their cousin Nimrodel having survived. For much of the Third Age, they had been kept as special trophies by the Witch-King. 

It was unusual for a three thousand year old ellon such as Thalion to marry a five thousand year old elleth such as Rian. But, in a manner of speaking, Rian’s life experience was only two thirds that of Thalion’s. In any case, it had been love at first sight for the two of them. Thranduil had lost too much in his life to deny his foster-son his blessing, although he had been concerned when he first learned of Thalion’s precipitous entrance into the marital state. 

Thranduil himself had been 1,751 years old when the War of the Last Alliance, and the Second Age, ended. A mere year later, he’d married his long-time love, and then in short order had become Thalion’s foster-father. Thalion had been a twenty-five year old elfling, the equivalent of a human ten year old boy, at the time. 

Orophin had been a mere three years older than Thalion. Elrohir and Elladan had been born to Elrond and Celebrian in year 130 of the Third Age, which made them approximately 158 years younger than Orophin. Although that still made Orophin much younger than Theli, who by his own rather questionable account was only about 244 years younger than Thranduil. 

That made Theli about the age of a much younger brother to Thranduil, had Thranduil been blessed with a much younger brother. While, on the other hand, Orophin, Melpomaen, and Elladan were approximately of an age with Thranduil’s son Thalion. 

While Thranduil thought about relative ages, Orophin’s older brother Haldir had moved the subject back to sojourns in Mordor. 

“You may be clever, Orophin, but you went into the Enemy’s own land both over-confident and under-prepared!” Haldir reproached his next-in-age sibling. 

“Oh yes? And how would you have done it differently, oh wise one?” Orophin asked tiredly, in the manner of one who didn’t feel like he had anything at all left to lose. 

“Not at all!” 

“Uncle Haldir, that’s not particularly helpful,” Elladan criticized, although Thranduil noticed that it was somehow himself and Theli who had captured the lion’s share of Elladan’s attention. Thranduil found this development rather alarming. 

“Nephew, you . . .” Haldir began aggravatedly. 

“Can I say something else?” Theli asked, interrupting the oldest of his three younger cousins, rather to Thranduil’s relief. As measured as Thranduil’s sympathy was for Theli and the others after everything they’d done, he found Haldir’s pretension to Celeborn’s level of wisdom to be rather trying. 

“You may, Ecthelion,” Erestor allowed, as if determined to be fair to Theli despite how much more upset he was with him than with the younger elves, of whom he seemed to expect less wisdom. 

Theli smiled repentantly and said, “I think I'm at a point where I couldn't possibly be in more trouble, so . . .” 

“Well, that really does depend, Theli,” Elladan interrupted in an affectionate yet somewhat stern tone, “I've been meaning to mention that I thought it was really stupid of you to consistently take on the most dangerous jobs on our missions for Mithrandir because you thought that you were the least likely of us to be truly missed if we didn't come back.” 

Elladan turned to his twin and Glorfindel and expanded chattily, “Theli kept threatening to tell our fathers if we didn’t let him take on whatever tasks were most likely to end badly.” 

“Did he?” Glorfindel commented with another frightening smile, “How kind of Ecthelion. A pity he didn’t follow through on that threat.” 

Not acknowledging his captain’s criticism, Elladan continued on in a half-admiring and half-scolding fashion, “And he used his extra 1,600 years on Arda as another bludgeoning tool. If it wasn’t ‘It’s going to be me to do that because I’m an Age older than you three,’ it was, ‘Do you want to be the one to tell your father about this? No? Then let me do it.’” 

“Elladan, you’re really not helping,” Theli complained. His expression was that of an elf who couldn’t decide whether to be appalled or amused as he added, “And you’re exaggerating, on top of that. It’s not like I’m some pathetic orphan. I have – I already had – three cousins. And I do have friends, you know.” 

Looking particularly pleased with himself, Elladan pointed out, “And now you have more family, too. Including me. Aren’t you lucky? I’m a great deal of fun at parties, you know.” 

“Oh, I know,” Theli muttered, smiling incredulously, “almost as fun as Adrahil, although fortunately not quite on his level.” 

Thranduil, meanwhile, was mentally adding to his list of ‘things to make sure that Theli understands.’ Rather to his own surprise, he found himself making plans to pull Elladan aside later, in order to get a better handle on exactly how concerning Theli’s self-sacrificing decisions had been. 

*Thranduil, you will talk to Ecthelion, about this, will you not?* Celeborn’s silvered mind voice inquired. 

Thranduil caught his elder cousin’s emerald eyes, and then nodded subtly. 

Celeborn tilted his head in appreciation. He was managing to keep his expression stern yet calm, but on the inside Thranduil could tell that Celeborn’s heart was aching. Even if he hadn’t just learned that Theli was his great-nephew, Celeborn had already been fond of the younger elf, even though Theli didn’t seem to entirely realize that. And besides, no one deserved to feel so alone. 

Fileg beside Thranduil shook his head, and remarked under his breath, “I would not want to be in Theli’s boots when we get back to the Greenwood and Nestorion learns all of what his former apprentice has been up to.” 

“I’m planning to make Theli write to him,” Thranduil replied just as quietly, most of his attention on Elladan, who, to Theli’s increasing alarm, was beginning to describe a number of different instances of Theli using his greater age and experience to ‘win’ arguments about who would, for instance, go on the most dangerous scouting trips. 

“I’m sure that will be a great deal of fun for him,” Fileg said, his azure eyes twinkling with a mixture of sympathy and humor at Theli’s expense. 

The Elder Set seemed genuinely interested in the information that Elladan was cheerfully sharing with them. But given that Theli was growing alarmingly pale again, Thranduil decided to cut Elladan off. For now. 

“Thank you, Elladan,” Thranduil said loudly and intently enough to gain the peredhel’s attention and acquiescence, “That will be sufficient. For now.” 

Elladan gave first Thranduil and then Theli a gracious smile, then inquired of Theli brightly, “What was it that you were going to say before I so rudely interrupted you, cousin?” 

“Nothing,” Theli assured him with false confidence, looking down at the floor, “It wasn’t important.” 

Celeborn and Glorfindel exchanged unreadable looks. Thranduil wondered if they also knew that Theli always – or almost always - looked down when he lied. And when he wanted to hide something. 

“Theli,” Thranduil addressed his younger cousin firmly. He waited until Theli looked up to meet his eyes, then calmly insisted, “Yes, you’ve made a number of poor decisions. It’s fine, or it will be anyway. We’ll work on it. You might as well go ahead and confess to whatever else you've done. I sincerely doubt it could make this that much worse.” 

Theli shook his head. He looked like he wanted to look away again, but he held Thranduil’s gaze as he countered, “I’d really rather not, Aran-nin.” 

“I’m not speaking to you as your King, and I wasn’t really offering you an option,” Thranduil instructed wryly, “Answer the question, cousin. What other stupid thing have you done?” 

Theli nodded his understanding of that. He smiled helplessly, and then in a rueful manner confessed, “Well, it was a long time ago, so I’m not sure if it even really matters anymore. It was during, or I guess just before, the War of the Last Alliance. I said that I was about 1,500 years old, because that was about the age that you had to be, to be old enough to go to war.” 

Thranduil tilted his head, intrigued. This wasn't really that much of a surprise. In fact, he’d always been curious about how old Theli actually was. Not bothering to hide his interest, Thranduil corrected, “The minimum legal age for non-combatants to join my father’s army was 1,440 years of age, or ten yeni. And how old were you really?” 

“I'm not exactly sure,” Theli hedged uncomfortably, “we didn't count in numbers like that. I was born in the year that the creek overflowed its banks all the way up to the quintuple oak tree, you know. Not in a year with a number.” 

“My patience is wearing thin, Ecthelion,” drawled Thranduil, consciously mimicking Celeborn, as he sometimes did when he didn’t know what to say to his children or younger cousins but was tired of their delaying tactics. Celeborn wouldn’t have used quite the same sarcastic tone of voice, but, well, Thranduil couldn’t be other than himself. 

Celeborn gave Thranduil a startled look, then smiled fondly as if touched by the homage. 

“Um, I think I was about 172?” Theli confessed hesitantly, “Or 172ish.” 

Thranduil’s eyes widened in surprise. That was a little younger than he’d thought. 

“So, about 1,172 years old?” Thranduil asked, to be certain that he understood. Even though Theli couldn’t possibly mean that he’d been barely over a yen old at the time of the War. 

Theli winced, “No. Just 172. Ish.” 

When Thranduil just stared at him, Theli clarified ruefully, “No thousand in front of it.” 

It was quiet in the room, because most everyone else was also staring at Theli. He did not seem pleased to be the center of attention. 

Celeborn, in contrast, just caught Theli’s gaze and nodded at him proudly, as if he’d already known. Thranduil was about to ask about that when Glorfindel’s golden laugh rang out through the room. 

“What is so funny about an elf who was practically still an elfling going to fight in that war?” Thranduil snapped at his mentor. 

The Balrog Slayer chuckled again, then answered, “The fact that I bet Elrond that he wasn’t much over 150 years old, and Elrond said no, that he was closer to 200. And now neither of us will ever really know, because I'd wager money now that Theli doesn't even know which one of us had it closer to right.” 

Theli smiled at Glorfindel, seeming quite relieved to have at least one person be amused rather than upset by his revelation as he said, “I think that you lose that wager, Sir. I’m almost certain that I was 174 at the point in the War when we first met. So, I suppose that you won your bet with Elrond.” 

“Which hardly ever happened,” Glorfindel explained in a smug manner, while the rest of the elves present, including Thranduil, continued to regard his levity with disapproval. 

Thranduil was struggling to find something to say which wasn’t caustic, so he was relieved when Celeborn fixed Glorfindel with a severe look and remonstrated firmly, “I’m very disappointed in both you and Elrond. It was unkind and inconsiderate to Ecthelion for you to have held your silence when you suspected how young he truly was. What the both of you should have been doing was reporting the issue to Ecthelion's supervisor, not betting about it amongst yourselves.” 

Glorfindel had the audacity to laugh again at that, “Oh, yes, then whoever was his supervisor would have sent him home for his own good, and Theli would have, what? Run off to join Imrazor's pirates so that he could keep fighting for the allied kingdoms in the war?” 

“Probably,” Theli confessed with a shy grin, “That was my sort-of plan, if Master Nestorion had convinced Master Bregalen to send me home for my own good. And they weren't pirates, any more.” 

With another chuckle, Glorfindel conceded, “True enough. They were privateers, which is slightly different. But, in any case, that was Elrond's guess, as to what you would do. And his guesses were generally pretty good. So we said nothing, and looked out for you ourselves. At least that way we knew where you were.” 

Theli smiled back at Glorfindel. Celeborn began to berate the Balrog Slayer again. And Elladan glared dangerously at Theli, although Thranduil thought that he saw something of admiration in the younger peredhel’s eyes as well as anger. 

Thranduil himself still couldn’t think of anything polite to say, but he was not angry or inconsiderate enough to speak what was on his mind for public consumption. So instead he said scathingly but silently to Glorfindel, *Oh yes, because your King Turgon’s similar logic in respect of taking your only son to the Battle of Unnumbered Tears worked out so very well for Arandil’s mind health.* 

Glorfindel continued to listen with apparent patience to Celeborn even as he silently replied to Thranduil, his golden mind voice ringing with pain, *Arandil was going to have found some way to be there, Thranduil. And he was getting better, after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. He knew that if he didn’t eat well and see his mind healer regularly, that I’d pull him from active duty in a heart beat. If I had only been there, after Gondolin, after Sirion, after the War of Wrath . . . I could have helped him recover. I know so because I know my son. And as it was,* Glorfindel’s mind voice turned from infinitely mournful to resigned and proud, “We needed someone good to play rear-guard, during the War of the Elves and Men and Sauron, and again during the War of the Last Alliance. You know that Sauron tried to sneak around to hit the elven kingdoms from the rear. It was Arandil who laid out the successful strategies for the most important of the ensuing naval battles. And he and his informants, and Galadriel and your mother and their elves, worked together to prevent at least a dozen other plots to stage sneak attacks.* 

That was all true, and Thranduil knew it. He also knew that Theli, like Arandil, Elrond, Legolas, and, for that matter, Thranduil himself, had always been determined to do what he saw as his duty, no matter the cost or consequences. 

*I’m sorry, my teacher,* Thranduil replied with sincere remorse and genuine warmth, *Arandil was a kind ellon, and an excellent regent and diplomat. It was right for him and Elain to sail with Celebrian to care for her, but I do miss him still.*

*We carry on as we must,* Glorfindel said, his rich mind voice redolent with affection for, and pride in, not only his own son, but also Thranduil, *And we do our best to care for and guide those who remind us of our own children. In this way, we keep them in our hearts.* 

Aloud, Glorfindel half-conceded, “It’s water under the bridge now. Elrond and I only ever expected Ecthelion to act his age, though. In that respect, I concede, it might have been better for Theli had we mentioned how young we thought him to be, after the War.

“You don’t say,” Thranduil commented sardonically, although he found himself otherwise able to remain calm, now that he had vented the first of his outraged anger. 

“It would have been better for Ecthelion had you mentioned it even earlier tonight, for that matter, Anatar,” Erestor politely rebuked his grandfather, “If I’d realized that Ecthelion was only 160 years older than Orophin, instead of 1,500 years older than him, I would have been much less angry with his decisions.” 

It did not displease Thranduil that Erestor seemed somewhat ashamed of himself on that count. Even if Theli had been half an Age older than the others, they had all made their own poor choices. 

“I should apologize to you as well, Erestor,” said Celeborn, with another slightly proud look for Theli, “Ecthelion confessed his true age to me just after the end of the Watchful Peace, by which time he was already 2,700 years old. Before trusting me with that confession, he asked for my promise that I keep his confidence. It has been a difficult oath to keep, and not just during this one night.” 

“I can imagine,” Erestor replied, his sympathy triumphing over his lingering embarrassment. 

Erestor then apologized to Theli personally, which Theli accepted first with surprise, then with his customary graciousness. 

Theli was still avoiding Thranduil’s gaze, though, which was probably a good thing. Thranduil himself was in the process of readjusting over 3,000 years of impressions of Theli, from the first years of their friendship during the bloody and terrible War of the Last Alliance, through this very night. 

Thranduil had thought Theli to be 244 years younger than Thranduil himself, of an age to be Thranduil’s younger brother. He now knew that Theli was 1,572 years younger, or only 154 years older than Thranduil’s foster-son Thalion. In other words, very nearly young enough to be Thranduil’s son, had he and Minaethiel had children of their bodies soon after marrying. 

Also, Theli was only about 300 years older than Elrohir, Elladan and Melpomaen. Young enough, in fact, to have been a much older brother of theirs. And Theli was actually younger than a number of Thalion’s good friends, such as Elhadron, who was now the Captain in command of the garrison at Ithilien-en-Edhil. Theli was also younger than the youngest of Thranduil’s Second Age cousins, Mychanar and Davron, the two older sons of Fileg’s sister Thoroniel, whom he and Minathiel had at times looked after. 

Knowing how old Theli was – or rather wasn’t - was a paradigm shift, particularly as Thranduil had already accepted responsibility for looking after Theli for the time being. Thranduil didn’t regret having done so, but the revelation about Theli’s age would change some aspects of the way that he thought that he should proceed with his new cousin. 

Some aspects; not all. Theli was still the same elf, or rather, peredhel, as he had always been, after all. The core kindness, bravery, cheekiness, humor, and ingenuity of Thranduil’s friend hadn’t changed. The cheerful optimism mixed with stubborn persistence and unalterable good humor which had first attracted the weary Thranduil’s friendship during the War . . . that was all still the same. 

And yet, Theli being 1,328 years younger than Thranduil had believed that he was, that made a difference. The 1,572 years between Thranduil and Theli was only 82 years less than the 1,658 years between Elrond and Thranduil. 

Perhaps, Thranduil thought to himself, that could be a template. Elrond hadn’t been like a father to Thranduil, after all, but more like a young uncle. He’d been a mentor, a beloved older cousin who had always heard Thranduil out patiently, and done his best to help Thranduil, in whatever way he could. 

Of course, patience was not Thranduil’s strong suit in the way that it had been Elrond’s. But he did already love Theli, as a loyal friend. And he had always looked out for the younger elf, if in a rather absent-minded way. Knowing that Theli was his cousin, and how young Theli really was, Thranduil could do a better job of looking out for him, now. 

Thranduil might not be as patient as Elrond, but Theli had a fair amount of patience of his own. And right now, it seemed that what Theli most needed to learn to do was value himself more highly. Thranduil could help him with that most important thing. He had four children he’d done rather well with in that regard, one of them almost as old as Theli. And Thranduil could help Theli with learning everything that a royal lord needed to know. Well, at least as much as Thranduil was willing to know of that topic himself. Theli could visit Celeborn in the future, and Celeborn could cover the rest. 

Almost certainly unaware of Thranduil’s exact thoughts, Theli finally dared to meet his eyes again, and smiled apologetically. 

*It’s fine, Theli,* Thranduil spoke gently into his much younger cousin’s mind, *We’ll work it out.* 

Theli took a deep breath as if much reassured, then nodded back. 

Thranduil returned his attention to the conversation, which had moved on from Theli’s age to the different roles the four elves had assumed in the course of their excursions throughout Rhun, Harad, Khand, and Mordor. 

“Elladan and I usually played the part of merchants, even when it was all nine of us – us and the five Men – together,” Orophin explained, in between grateful sips of wine. Even Celeborn’s loquacious middle son was tired of talking this night. Thranduil didn’t blame him. He personally thought that this information could have waited for the morning. But neither did he want to leave, because he didn’t want to miss anything of relevance.

“Melpomaen was usually Elladan’s wife,” Orophin continued, “and . . .” 

“I usually played the role of Elladan’s wife,” Melpomaen corrected his friend good-naturedly. 

“Right, yes, of course, sorry, Melpomaen,” said Orophin. 

Melpomaen waved away the apology, “No harm done. And that particular charade did have the unintended benefit of enabling me to gather information from the wives and female servants of the Men we traded with, even if they thought me terribly shy for not being willing to remove my robes even in the privacy of the women’s quarters.” 

“That was extremely helpful,” Orophin agreed, “Elladan, Adrahil, Tarostar, and I mostly interacted with the various merchants and nobles. And Theli, Cilben, Brand, and Eyvin talked to the guards or the slaves, depending on which role they were assuming on the trip in question. So between the nine of us we were able to assay every class of persons in just about every town or settlement where we sojourned. And that allowed us to . . .” 

“Stop for a moment, ion-muin-nin,” Celeborn directed Orophin, “Did you say that Ecthelion played the role of your slave?” 

“Sometimes,” Orophin answered honestly, “It was a hateful charade, Ada, but the slaves knew everything. And they were afraid to talk to anyone who wasn’t also a slave.” 

“That,” said Theli with self-deprecating humor, “and I couldn’t manage to speak Rhunnic, Haradric, or Khandian without what Elladan charitably called ‘an atrocious accent that thank-the-Valar can pass as a Westron accent.’ Eyvin and Brand were the same, and Cilben had trouble remembering the right customs for whatever land we were in at the time. So the four of us were best believable as sell-sword hired guards, or slaves.” 

“That was a tremendous risk to take with your comrades’ lives, Elladan,” Glorfindel criticized. 

“It was,” Elladan agreed soberly, “Too great a risk, despite the gain.” 

Elladan and Theli exchanged an unreadable glance. 

Then Theli explained in an uncharacteristically grim manner, “Cilben was almost whipped in Harad, for spilling wine on one of their lords. Elladan and Orophin managed to prevent it by bribing the lord in question. But it was a close thing.” 

Given that Theli spilled medicines and beverages like it was one of his callings in life, Thranduil found that very worrying. But whatever else might have occurred, neither Theli nor Elladan seemed willingly to discuss it. Orophin seemed just as puzzled as Thranduil himself. And Melpomaen appeared blissfully unaware that there was anything not being said. Thranduil would do his best to get more information from Theli later, in private. And if that failed, the King of the Greenwood resolved to ask Glorfindel to help him question Elladan more closely. 

“We did our best to protect Theli, Brand, Eyvin, and Cilben when they were playing the more dangerous role of slaves,” Melpomaen elaborated, “By saying that they were old family slaves, or had valuable skills. But even that almost backfired, at times.” 

“I hesitate to even ask what you mean by that, gwador,” Elrohir ventured, stone-faced. 

“He just means that it can be very difficult to explain to a Chieftain of Rhun why you won’t sell him a healer in exchange for an entire herd of horses,” Orophin clarified, with an affectionate glance towards Theli. 

“I appreciated your reticence very much in that case, ‘Phin,” Theli teased back, “Although I think that Melpomaen actually had more trouble explaining to the Umbaran Oligarch’s favorite daughter why Eyvin and his beautiful voice weren’t for sale.” 

“These are the kind of difficulties and risks which you young idiots could have minimized by letting us know what you were doing and asking for help,” Glorfindel pointed out irritably, “But we can and will explore that in later depth tomorrow. What I want to know right now is whether there is anything else that should get mentioned before we discuss consequences for your many ill-advised decisions.” 

The four young idiots exchanged glances, the longest lingering between Elladan and Theli. 

There was definitely something going on there, but Thranduil didn’t feel the need to say anything . . . yet. He was sure that if he’d noticed, Glorfindel had, as well, and likely Celeborn, too. Maybe even Erestor, but as good as Erestor was at reading his own son, he didn’t have a good handle on Theli. And no one, so far as Thranduil could tell, had a good handle on Elladan. Except for maybe Glorfindel, but even he hadn’t managed to unravel this mess before Elladan had decided to confess to it of his own will earlier tonight. 

“I can’t think of anything else,” Orophin declared at last. 

“I can’t think of anything now,” Melpomaen told his great-grandfather earnestly, “But I can’t be sure I haven’t forgotten something. If I think of anything else that I know you’d be concerned about, I’ll bring it up as soon as I can.” 

“I know that you will, Melpomaen,” Glorfindel said, affection and pride for his great-grandson clear in his tone despite his anger. 

Elladan gave Melpomaen a fond, baffled look, before asking Glorfindel, “Have you told Thranduil that Theli wouldn’t carry a sword on our first trips through Rhun and Mordor?” 

“What?” said Thranduil, who wasn’t sure whether to be angered by that or merely incredulous. Surely that couldn’t be true. Theli could be reckless, but that was just stupid. 

“Elladan, are you trying to get me into more trouble?” Theli asked disbelievingly, as if the incident really had happened and he just hadn’t wanted Thranduil to know about it. 

Angry it was then. 

“What in Eru’s name were you thinking?” Thranduil demanded sharply of Theli. 

“Well, I thought that because I had been expelled from your army, I couldn’t carry a sword,” Theli explained earnestly and artlessly, “But it turns out that that wasn’t correct. I just couldn’t carry a sword issued by Greenwood’s Army, or carry one while in your service.” 

“And you didn’t think to check your understanding of that before going jaunting off into Enemy lands!?” 

“No, well, I didn’t know that I was going to be going anywhere except Lothlorien. Lord Glorfindel gave me his son’s sword and made me promise to carry it with me and use it when we left Imladris after the first mission. And then when I had to use his son’s sword to ransom Adrahil back from pirates, he sent me a new sword, along with a letter that said that he’d forgive me for losing the first one he’d given to me only so long as I kept on carrying a sword.” 

Thranduil turned to Glorfindel, “Thank you for that.” 

Glorfindel gave Thranduil a compassionate half-smile, “No thanks are necessary, student-mine. Not for this. Fortunately, I have a great deal of experience dealing with well-meaning but exceptionally stubborn young elves.” 

“Which you never let us forget,” Thranduil was tired enough to say aloud. 

Glorfindel, fortunately, was amused enough to let that pass with no comment besides another half-smile. He turned his attention back to Elladan, and raised an eyebrow. 

“I have nothing else left to add, Captain,” Elladan asserted calmly. 

Elladan’s heather gray eyes met Glorfindel’s cobalt blue, and held. 

Glorfindel must have been satisfied, because he nodded after a moment, then brusquely advised the four younger elves, “Get some sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning.” 

All four nodded back instead of answering aloud. Either they were all finally at a loss for words, even Elladan. Or they had all realized that anything else they said might get them into more trouble, even Elladan. 

Orophin did also mutter, “Oh, joy,” under his breath, but Thranduil didn’t bother to call attention to it. He found it amusing more than anything else. Glorfindel had likely heard it anyway. 

Haldir certainly had. He took a step closer to Orophin, wrapped his hand around the back of his younger brother’s neck, and pulled him into a firm embrace, whispering, “Watch it, smart mouth,” into Orophin’s ear. 

“My smart mouth kept me alive,” Orophon countered wearily, “One would think that you would be glad for it, brother-mine.” 

“I certainly am,” said Eilunwen, Orophin’s delicate blond wife, who had hastened to her husband’s side as soon as Glorfindel dismissed him. She wrapped her arms around Orophin’s tall, slender frame and kissed him soundly. 

Haldir shook his head at Eilunwen’s unquestioning support of her husband and chided his brother, “I’m glad that you can usually talk yourself out of trouble, ‘Phin. But I do wish that you wouldn’t seek out quite so much of it.” 

“He’s not listening, big brother,” Rumil observed with cheerful amusement, “Orophin is the smart one, after all, and Eilunwen is far prettier than you.” 

Celeborn was dividing his attention between his children and Theli, who was being far more genially questioned by Amrothos and Faramir. Glorfindel had pulled Elladan and Elrohir aside and was talking to them quietly. Erestor had claimed a seat on a settee by the nearest window, with Melpomaen next to him, laying back half against his father’s shoulder. 

Thranduil found himself with Legolas, as Thalion carefully made himself a wall between everyone else and his father and brother. It was a role that Thalion had been playing since Thranduil and Minaethiel were blessed with Thandrin, Legolas’ second oldest brother and the first child of their bodies. 

Linwe and Fileg joined Thalion. All three of them stood just far away enough that Legolas and Thranduil could speak softly to one another without being overheard. 

“Ada, did you hear . . .” Legolas began heatedly, his temper only just hiding the fear that lurked in his laurel green eyes. 

It was a look that Thranduil recognized, and not only because he knew his son. He’d also seen it in his own eyes. 

“I heard everything, laes-nin,” Thranduil assured his son, placing his hands reassuringly on Legolas’ shoulders, “Don’t worry. I’ll have a long talk with Theli tonight. Both about valuing his life, and about trusting us. We’ll handle the rest day by day. We have time.” 

“Theli didn’t tell me any of that, until tonight when he had to because of cousin Elladan,” Legolas complained fiercely, his hurt adding to his anger but still failing to conceal his very genuine fright at what could have happened to Theli, and his equal dread of what might happen to Theli in the future. 

“I’ve always trusted him, Ada,” Legolas continued in an aching tone of voice, “I’ve always trusted him to hear me, to help me figure out what is right and what is possible. To stop me if he thinks I’m wrong and he thinks he can, and to follow me, even when I’m wrong, if he thinks that he can’t stop me. To forgive me, no matter what I do. And yet it is horrifically clear that he doesn’t trust me to help him!” 

“Legolas-nin,” Thranduil said tenderly but adamantly, “You are fortunate to have such a friend. We are fortunate. Now is the time when you must trust Theli, one more time.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You must trust him to listen when we say that we are here for him to rely on,” Thranduil explained resolutely, “You must trust him enough to give him another chance to trust you.” 

“But what . . . what if he doesn’t listen?” 

Thranduil smiled wryly, “Then we try again. Trust takes work, Legolas.” 

That got a smile of understanding from his silver-blond son, and even better, Thranduil got to watch as the anger, pain, and dread clouding Legolas’ laurel-green eyes resolved into comprehension, and then changed into hope and resolve. 

“Oh. I see, it’s like in a game of Kingdoms,” Legolas teasingly but sincerely replied, in a reference to one of Thranduil’s favorite strategy games, “This isn’t just a defeat. It isn’t just a failure. All it really is, if your army is still on the board, is an opportunity to learn how to win better.” 

“And to think, your cousin Brasseniel says that you’re just a pretty face,” Thranduil bantered back, very proud of this son of his. After one last reassuring squeeze to Legolas’ shoulders, Thranduil released him. 

“Oh, she does not,” Legolas laughingly protested. 

“No, she doesn’t,” Thranduil agreed with a half-smile, “But she is trying to get your attention now.” 

“Oh, right. Prince Amrothos invited us all to go with him to a party that his squire’s brother’s friend is hosting on the main Third Level garden. But we weren’t sure whether we should go, because . . .” 

“Because you were worried for Theli,” Thranduil guessed, “due to your fear that our cousin Celeborn or the great Glorfindel would cause permanent damage to your greatly erring friend and new-found cousin.” 

“I still don’t know either of them that well, Ada, save through your eyes,” Legolas pointed out half-apologetically. 

“I know, ion-nin. We lost a great deal, in these last few centuries of Shadow. When it was so dangerous to travel, and while we spent everything we had holding on to the little that was left to us.” 

And Thranduil regretted that greatly. They couldn’t make up for all of it tonight. But Legolas could still have a pleasant evening, and a chance to enjoy some of the revelry he’d missed out on growing up during such a desperate time. 

“Who else is going to this garden party?” Thranduil asked lightly. 

“Everyone was invited. Oh, you mean even if we don’t go? Well, Amrothos, of course. Also Faramir, Eowyn, Anborn, Calasilas, Galdoron, Saelind, Hallas, Sessily, Sir Annondir and his wife, and Healer Olidhor and his wife. I haven’t learned their names yet. Oh, and Lothiriel and Eomer are going to make an appearance if the baby wakes Lothiriel by kicking her around midnight, which happens every other night or so.” 

“I see. And Aragorn is letting Faramir out of his sight, despite Faramir’s own recent wanderings?” 

“Not going to parties isn’t part of Faramir’s punishment,” Legolas explained, smiling ruefully at his own anger with Faramir from earlier in the day as he explained, “Aragorn wants Faramir to enjoy being home.”

“That seems like wise fatherly advice,” Thranduil recognized, “Why don’t you go? I promise that I will look out for Theli.” 

“Thank you, Ada.” 

“Thank me by enjoying your night, Legolas-muin-nin. And by trusting me.” 

Legolas nodded, smiled, and wished Thranduil, “Good luck, Ada,” which made Thranduil smile again. Then he went to collect his brother. 

Side by side, Legolas and Thalion went over together to the growing clump of younger people which had formed around the nucleus of Amrothos, Faramir, and Theli, and now included some twenty other individuals, over half of them elves. 

That number, to Thranduil’s relief, included Baeraeriel, Cenedru, and Cellillien, who often acted as Legolas’ guards as well as his companions. They would watch Legolas’ back at this garden party if for some reason Thalion and Rian were distracted. The group also included That Annoying Dwarf Gimli, but that was unfortunately to be expected, and he would at the least watch out for Legolas until he was too drunk to be of any use. 

Also, since Faramir, Eowyn, and Amrothos were part of the group, there would be both royal guards and Swan Knights there at this garden party to look out for them. Legolas, Thalion, and Rian, as friends of all three young humans, would all would be well looked after. 

It was Amrothos who could be most easily heard over the cheerful din, boisterously promising to regale the entire party with his grandfather’s favorite drinking songs, once the festivities were well under way. 

“You have to come, Theli,” Amrothos enthused, “All four of you who were Daerada Adrahil’s companions have to come with us. You four probably haven’t heard all the verses of the Lonesome Kraken of Umbar since Daerada was my age!” 

From the settee by the window, Erestor gave the young swan prince a quelling glance. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Erestor,” Amrothos sallied back with his customary cheerful bonhomie, “And do lend us your son! Melpomaen’s tenor would be perfect for the voice of the wise yet cautious dolphin. The Kraken would be lost without him.” 

“I’m sure that he would be, Amrothos,” Erestor replied in a bemused yet unoffended tone of voice, “However I must tender regrets upon behalf of both my son and my heart-nephew. Melpomaen and Elladan won’t be at liberty to go on such excursions for quite some time. At least not without explicit advance permission.” 

“But Erestor,” Amrothos said, putting a hand over his heart as if he’d been mortally wounded by the elven lord’s refusal, “The Kraken will be lost!” 

“Then I am afraid that . . .the Kraken . . . will simply have to remain lost for tonight,” Erestor refused again, still patience itself with the exuberant human prince, “And possibly for the rest of this week. At least.” 

“The same is true for Orophin,” Celeborn said bluntly, putting a gentle but unshakeable hand on his middle son’s shoulder, even as his daughter-by-law Eilunwen tried to subtly lead her husband in the direction of the door. 

“It was worth a try, vixen-mine,” Orophin said to his wife with a grin, “Go on without me, and have a good time with Rumil and Silwen. Ada and Haldir most likely want to talk to me for awhile tonight.” 

Eilunwen was clearly worried by this, but Amrothos gallantly took her hand and said, “Don’t deny us your company, Eilunwen!” 

“Eilunwen, and Haldir, Silwen, and Rumil, are of course free to do as they please,” Celeborn allowed indulgently, with an encouraging smile for his still hesitating daughter-by-law. 

Rumil chivalrously took Eilunwen’s other hand and pledged, “You can be my dance partner, sister. Last time Tauriel stepped on both of my feet!” 

“Only because you wouldn’t let me lead,” Tauriel of Imladris bantered back, “But do come, Eilunwen! It will be fun.” 

When Eilunwen still hesitated, it was Thranduil who encouraged, “Go on, Rose-White. Protect your brother-by-law from Rose-Red. She never remembers which dances the male partner is supposed to lead.”

Tauriel gave the last remaining elven King a grin, “I’m not going to forget that, Thranduil.” 

“I would expect nothing less,” Thranduil assured her, rather pleased with himself for convincing the two remaining Roses of Imladris to enjoy their night. Besides, Eilunwen and Tauriel had been Andreth Elrondiel’s best friends. Together, they had been the Three Roses of Imladris, made famous by an early Third Age song written and composed by Gelmir Laurelinde, Andreth’s future husband. Andreth, Rose-Gold, had loved both Legolas and Thalion, who was her husband Gelmir’s favorite cousin. Andreth’s two fellow Roses would be two more sets of eyes watching out for Thranduil’s youngest and oldest children. 

The set of eyes most accustomed to looking out for Legolas would be Theli’s. Amrothos had the arm with which he wasn’t clasping Eilunwen’s hand wrapped firmly around Theli’s shoulder. The young human prince appeared quite ready to carry Theli right along with him to the Third Level of the city. 

Thranduil wondered if it really hadn’t occurred to Theli that this wouldn’t be permitted. Behind him, he heard Fileg say something sotto voce to Linwe. Then when Linwe didn’t respond, he heard Fileg make the same offer to Lieutenant Endaqueto of Imladris. Endaqueto was about the same age as Thranduil, Linwe, and Fileg, and a friend of theirs from youthful visits to Imladris. Endaqueto was also a good friend of Fileg’s wife Calmarille, who had left Imladris only after her marriage to Fileg near the start of the Third Age. 

Meanwhile, Glorfindel and Celeborn looked to be sending Faronglas, one of Celeborn’s guards who was also a relative-by-marriage of Glorfindel’s, along to help keep track of the younger elves. Thranduil approved, even though he didn’t truly think it was necessary. 

When Rumil saw Faronglas coming to join them, he grinned, and joked, “Get lost at one street festival in Minas Tirith almost three thousand years ago, and nobody ever forgets!” 

“You told us that you were going to get a drink of water from the fountain, and then we couldn’t find you until mid-morning of the next day, Ru,” Theli reminded his cousin, “It’s a little hard to forget.” 

“I haven’t heard that story,” Eowyn said with a smile, “Lothiriel told me that it was a good one, though. Will you tell it to me later, Theli? Rumil always leaves out the part with the mime when he tells it, according to Eomer, and the mime is the best part, according to Lothiriel.”

“I always thought that the peacock was the best part,” said Theli with a bemused smile, “But you’re right, Rumil always skips the part with the mime. I can tell you the whole thing tonight, if you’d like. There will be plenty of time before even Amrothos manages to find eighteen different sailors drunk enough to properly sing all the verses of The Lonesome Kraken.” 

Eowyn’s cornflower-blue eyes opened wide in surprise, “Oh, are you coming, Theli?” 

“Well, I don’t have rounds until afternoon tomorrow, and I’m sure that whatever meeting Glorfindel is organizing for tomorrow won’t start until after morning arms-practice,” Theli thought aloud, “because Glorfindel never misses that unless he’s somewhere that’s actively under siege. So I’ll come,” Theli agreed with a shrug, then smiled faintly at the jaunty cheer that garnered from Amrothos. 

“No, you won’t,” Thranduil commanded, torn between exasperation and sympathy that it apparently really had not occurred to Theli that he wouldn’t be allowed to leave. 

“What?” asked Theli, truly and honestly startled, “Why not, Thranduil? Is there something that you need me for?” 

Thranduil heard money exchanging hands between Fileg and Endaqueto, and resolved to have a word with them later, even as he gently but unwaveringly explained, “Theli, you are not at liberty to leave the Citadel without my permission.” 

“Oh,” Theli marveled, seemingly torn between disappointment and a sense of reassurance that someone cared enough to keep track of him, “I suppose that I won’t go, then.” 

Amrothos sighed as if greatly disappointed. But when Thranduil pointed out that Eilunwen for Theli was a fair trade, the chivalrous youngest grandson of Adrahil had to agree. 

Thranduil stayed beside Theli as the humans and younger elves departed the King’s Long Gallery for their revels. When the last of them had had been farewell’ed, Theli turned to Thranduil uncertainly, as if to ask, ‘now what?’ 

“Cousin,” Thranduil said, in the same carefully gentle but absolutely inflexible tone, “Come back to my rooms with me. You and I need to have a talk.”


	21. The Talk I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil talks to Theli about trust, and about learning from old mistakes. The King asks Theli’s former commanding officers to help him in aiding Theli to understand the points he is trying to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, his friend Linwe, General Rochendil, and Master Rochirion belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please read all tags. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “Leadership is solving problems. The day soldiers stop bringing you their problems is the day you have stopped leading them. They have either lost confidence that you can help or concluded you do not care. Either case is a failure of leadership.” - Colin Powell 
> 
> “Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn.” – Neil Gaiman 
> 
> “The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” ― Ernest Hemingway
> 
>  
> 
> Excerpt from end of Chapter 20: 
> 
> Thranduil stayed beside Theli as the humans and younger elves departed the King’s Long Gallery for their revels. When the last of them had had been farewell’ed, Theli turned to Thranduil uncertainly, as if to ask, ‘now what?’ 
> 
> “Cousin,” Thranduil said, in the same carefully gentle but absolutely inflexible tone, “Come back to my rooms with me. You and I need to have a talk.”

As a result of Thranduil’s doing his best to discourage a large audience, he ended up back in the common room of his guest apartment with only nine other elves. 

Theli, whom Thranduil needed to talk to. And also Rochendil, Rochirion, Teliemir, Lothgail, Mychanar, Linwe, Fileg, and Fileg’s wife Calamarille. It was a larger audience than Thranduil really needed, or wanted. 

Calmarille had tucked her arm in Theli’s and was scolding him softly, so Thranduil began with his younger cousins. 

“Lothgail, Mychanar, why don’t you go and join Thalion and Legolas at Prince Amrothos’s friend’s party?” Thranduil asked, in a tone of voice which suggested that it would be wise for them to do so. 

“Amrothos’ squire’s brother’s friend,” Theli corrected quietly, with a shy smile and a rueful twinkle in his eyes, and Calmarille still holding onto him by one arm. 

“Amrothos’ squire’s brother’s friend’s party,” Thranduil agreed, smiling back and laying a gentle hand on Theli’s other shoulder before turning to the rest of their interested audience, “Go on, then. The show’s over for tonight. If you still have questions for Theli, you can ask them of him tomorrow.” 

Lothgail and Mychanar exchanged looks. Always a gentleman, Mychanar waved for Lothgail to speak first. 

“Cousin Thranduil, would you like me to stay?” 

“No, Lothgail, not this time,” Thranduil said kindly, before turning his gaze to Mychanar and lifting an inquiring brow. 

“Ah . . . do you need a scribe, cousin?” Mychanar asked. 

“No, thank you, cousin,” Thranduil replied, making it clear that he thought it a rather foolish question. 

“Ah . . . an execution does require an official trial record, you do recall?” Mychanar ventured, half-seriously and half-jesting. 

Torn between irritation and admiration of Mychanar’s nerve, Thranduil said firmly, with his hand still on Theli’s shoulder, “I’m not going to kill him, Mychanar. We’re just going to have a little talk about trust. I’d rather not lose my long-time friend and new-found cousin to some reckless venture he wrongly thought that he had to see through on his own.” 

“Oh, good, he’ll still be alive tomorrow,” Mychanar said, appearing partially relieved and partially irritated, “Then I can have a talk with him myself.” 

Theli seemed confused, as if he had no idea what he might have done to step on Mychanar’s feet. 

Thranduil chuckled, “How many times did Theli use being older than you to convince you to pay him heed, Mychanar-nin?” Mychanar was one of the kindest and most empathetic of Thranduil’s cousins. Which was saying rather a lot, as they were a generally kind group. But even the most perfect elf could be annoyed about someone almost three hundred years younger than himself having told him what to do for an Age! 

“Oh!” Theli exclaimed, blushing, “I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“A time or five,” Mychanar recognized ruefully, “Although he was usually right. At least about listening to my healers and having mercy on my little brothers.” 

“Hmm. Well, Theli will still be alive tomorrow and you can talk to him then. Just talk, though. No yelling,” Thranduil said sternly, albeit not without some sympathy. 

“What do you mean by ‘yelling’?” Theli asked suspiciously. Thranduil squeezed the younger elf’s shoulder to quiet him. 

“Tomorrow, then,” Mychanar said, with a glare for Theli that was only mostly teasing. Then he offered Lothgail his arm in escort. 

Lothgail accepted reluctantly, seemingly still concerned about leaving her favorite elflinghood healer to Thranduil’s tender mercies. Either to prolong her departure or because she thought that Thranduil would want to know, Lothgail offered, “Don't worry about helping Theli to update his wardrobe, cousin Thranduil. Arwen, Silwen, Eilunwen, Eowyn, Calmarille, Camendis and I have already talked about it. We're happy to help him with that.” 

Thranduil squeezed Theli’s shoulder again. 

“Oh, um, thank you, Lothgail,” Theli replied after that prompting. Doing what Thranduil thought was a noble job of repressing his distaste for the whole idea, Theli added, “That is very kind of you, of all of you. Please at least let me pay for it.” 

That made Lothgail regard Theli with an 'isn't he cute and sweet' expression which Thranduil knew for a fact, from past discussion with Theli, that the healer found annoying. Thranduil gave her a quelling look. 

Lothgail quickly amended her expression to one more that was more younger-sisterly and less maiden-cooing-upon-seeing-a-cute-fluffy-little-duckling as she assured Theli, "I'm sorry, Theli, but it would be insulting to Eowyn and Arwen to even make the offer. They are so happy to be able to do this for you." 

“Oh. Um. I'll have to thank them, then.” 

“That sounds appropriate,” Thranduil commented mildly, “And don't trouble yourself about expenses for your clothing or education for the time being, Theli. I'll take care of all of that, for now.” 

Theli looked overwhelmed again, but he did manage a nod in thanks. 

Lothgail smiled at him reassuringly, “Ada will likely want to help Theli choose new clothing when we return to the Greenwood. He enjoys shopping for Theli.” 

Theli gave Thranduil a highly alarmed look, but he was too polite to say anything derogatory about Luthavar in front of his daughter. 

“I’m sure that Theli will appreciate that,” Thranduil said, trying to keep the irony out of his voice for Lothgail’s benefit, “But for now, if you could give us the room, elflings, I would appreciate that.”

When Mychanar and Lothgail hesitated again, Calmarille sighed and left Theli to Thranduil, her husband, and the other ellyn, with naught more than a last hug for Theli and a speaking look to Fileg. 

“Come along, my dears,” Calmarille said to the younger elves, “Let’s see if the two of you can keep the others out of trouble tonight, shall we?”

With that encouragement, Thranduil was left with only six elves. 

“Do you know how many trees there are in the mosaic in the north west council chamber, Thranduil?” Theli asked resignedly, although Thranduil noted with relief that this complaint lacked the element of real fear that had been present in Theli’s eyes when he'd defended himself from Celeborn and Erestor earlier in the evening. And even sometimes when Rochendil had criticized him, as ridiculous as the very idea of being afraid of Rochendil was to Thranduil. 

“No idea,” Thranduil replied, somewhat interested to find out what Theli would say next. 

“327.” 

“Mmm. Wasn’t that the room that Luthavar was using for briefings prior to our last trade talks with Erebor?” Thranduil asked, more than a little amused. 

“Yes. I had plenty of time to count the trees, and the birds – there are 42, by the way - since Luthavar had me standing still there for a tailor while the tailor meticulously measured me for various sets of clothing. For six hours.” 

“I was vaguely aware of that. Luthavar found it hard work as well, by the way. But he was pleased to have the opportunity to see you dressed appropriately.” 

“It was very kind of him, truly, but it was exhausting and boring. And then he and the tailor spent two whole hours discussing which shades of blue would bring out my eyes best.” 

“You do have lovely eyes,” Thranduil teased. 

“Shades of blue, Thranduil. For two hours.” 

“I am not going to protect you from Luthavar, Theli. His assistance to you as a member of my family is just something which you will have to learn to enjoy. Or at the least put up with.” 

“We all have,” Fileg said, with a commiserating smile. 

“Indeed,” Thranduil agreed, “And, in fact, if you play your cards right, Theli, HE may well even protect YOU from ME. I'm sure that we're going to step on oneanother's feet again at some point, you and I, and Luthavar has always done his best to protect you, despite finding you practically hopeless from a sartorial point of view. I’m not sure if you’ve ever understood what a sacrifice that is for him. Fortunately for you, tonight I am still feeling somewhere between glad to have you as a cousin and incredulous at hearing what you've been up to. Which is rounding to my still feeling patient, at the time being.” 

“Thanks for that,” Theli said with a rueful half-smile. 

“You're welcome, bratling,” Thranduil replied with genuine if exasperated affection, “Now have a seat.” 

Thranduil pointed at the chair opposite his own at the small round table by the window. He and Theli both sat. 

Regarding their remaining companions, Thranduil requested, “Rochendil, Linwe, and Teliemir, have a seat as well. I’d like you to stay, if you will.” 

“Of course, my elfling,” Rochendil agreed. 

The two captains both nodded and joined them at the table. Linwe sat on one side of Thranduil, with Teliemir beside him. Rochendil took the seat in between Teliemir and Theli. 

Fileg tilted his head toward the table, “With your leave, cousin?”

“I would like to remain as well, Thranduil,” Rochirion asked courteously, “Ecthelion may need an advocate.” 

“Sweet Belain, do you see how many friends you have even just here in Minas Tirith, you idiot?” Thranduil pointed out heatedly to Theli, “The two of them, plus the ‘older’ little cousins, both of my sons, and all of their friends who were present tonight?” 

“I see,” Theli conceded, pink-cheeked. 

“Do make a note of it,” Thranduil advised sardonically, before turning back to Fileg and Rochirion, “You can both stay, but as a friend, and a mentor. Theli doesn’t need an advocate. He’s not on trial here. We just need to get a few matters straight, between us.” 

Fileg took the chair on Thranduil’s other side, and Rochirion sat on the other side of Theli. 

Thranduil waited for a moment, allowing the silence to underline how serious he was about what he was about to say. 

Then he said sternly to Theli, “Listen, my friend and cousin, and listen well. You need to start trusting me, and the Greenwood’s army and council. A wizard’s request for one of my elves to go on a dangerous intelligence gathering expedition into Enemy-affiliated lands was not a risk that you alone should have decided whether to take. It should have been a matter for me to decide, not you.” 

“I’m sorry, Thranduil,” Theli apologized earnestly, “I thought of that, and I wanted to ask you for help, but I was afraid that you would say no, or not listen at all, and so . . . I didn’t.” 

“You were afraid that I wouldn’t listen, as Celeborn hadn’t listened, and so you didn’t even try,” Thranduil criticized, although not without some measure of sympathy, particularly as he continued, “You were afraid that I would not listen to you in part because you purposely misled me earlier as to the quality of your decision-making. And so, one near-disastrous decision on your part helped lead to another.” 

Theli nodded, accepting that charge, but could not seem to help but protest, “The first decision wasn’t that much of a disaster.” 

Thranduil raised a dubious eyebrow, but he at least knew that what Theli meant, was that his decision to take the blame for ordering the expedition to go beyond the Greenwood’s borders after the slavers despite the possibility that they would have reinforcements, as in the decision to own the blame itself, had not been a disaster. If Thranduil hadn’t known that, he might have thought that Theli was trying to assert that the unwise expedition after the slavers itself had not been a potential disaster. 

Linwe, who was not aware of that, castigated Theli harshly and coldly, “It was only luck that it wasn’t a disaster, Ecthelion. You didn’t know that the slavers didn’t have reinforcements waiting to meet them even before the Iron Hills. You and every elf and man entrusted to your leadership could easily have died.” 

“Yes, Sir,” agreed Theli humbly, looking down at the table. 

Rather to Thranduil’s disappointment, Theli did not confess that he’d agreed with Linwe. Or explain that he had only given that order after doing so had become necessary to protect his soldiers from mutiny charges. And to give them the benefit of his experience, since they were going after the slavers with or without Theli. 

“You’re looking down again, Theli,” Thranduil noted with interest, “But when you first told me what you’d done, that you’d given the order and lead my soldiers – and my son - on that reckless mission, you looked me in the eye and lied about it.” 

Thranduil noted Linwe’s narrowed eyes at the mention of a lie. But since Thranduil was still hoping that Theli would come clean on his own, besides being intent on figuring out how Theli had fooled him in the first place, he said nothing of it for the moment. 

Theli stared at Thranduil appealingly. When the King didn’t budge, he finally confessed, “I used the power I inherited from my grandfather to make my mind blank, so that nothing showed in my eyes when I told you what I wanted you to believe, besides what I wanted you to believe. I don’t use that power often at all, in part because I don’t usually see the point in lying. You have to understand, that was only the second lie I’ve told to any of you, ever. It was just that lie, and the lie about my age.”

“Good to know,” Thranduil recognized, “And, as I recall, you have little control over your mind powers.” 

“I have a little control,” Theli corrected earnestly, “I’ve always been able to lie. I learned how to do that, to convince Grandda Eldun that I’d been practicing with my mind powers the way that he wanted me to, when I hadn’t been practicing much at all, because it always hurts. Even just blanking my mind to sell a lie usually hurts, a lot. Orophin helped me learn how to do some things, like communicating over distances, without it hurting much. But I’m still not really good at any of it.” 

Thranduil nodded, considering that. It was consistent with what Galadriel had told him of Theli, that the younger elf’s mind and potential mental abilities had been damaged by Eldun’s impatient and ham-handed attempts to teach Theli to use his powers before he’d had the age and maturity to learn. Most elves couldn’t even attempt mind speech until they were over three thousand years old. Thranduil was an exception in that his abilities included premonitions, and also had developed somewhat earlier. 

“Then you shouldn’t have used your power to lie at all,” Thranduil reprimanded firmly, after considering the matter. 

Theli made a frustrated face, “I promised Nestorion that I wouldn’t anymore, unless someone’s life was in danger,” he complained, as if that had been a very underhanded thing for Nestorion to get Theli to agree to instead of a prudent act of concern and love, “I used it in the South, though,” Theli continued, “with all the lies we had to tell there – that was a matter of our safety. Although so was what I said and did following what happened with the slavers, in my opinion. Even though Nestorion didn’t think so, and he got me to promise him I wouldn’t lie about it again after I made myself sick doing it. That’s why I stopped meeting your eyes about it. After that, I mean.” 

“Thank you for the explanation,” said Thranduil mildly, “And the assurance. I’m glad that you’ll be more careful in the future. Although for your getting away with lying and covering up the mutiny, I confess that I blame myself in part, for my own flawed powers of observation. I know – and I already knew as of then – that you don’t look down when you’re ashamed of what you’ve done. You haven’t in yeni. You meet your mistakes in the eye. You only look down when you’re trying to hide something.” 

“You couldn’t have known. And besides, it was still my fault. You said so yourself.” 

“That’s not entirely true, although yes, I did say so,” Thranduil admitted, “I was angry with you for lying to me, and with myself for believing the lie. It’s a mistake I don’t intend to repeat, in respect of you. And I don’t want anyone else here to let you get away with anything similar again. So, my old friend and very much younger cousin, do you want to tell your former captains about the mutiny my dear youngest son led against you after you gave the order to go back to the North Hall, the mutiny that you ruined your career and risked your life to keep a secret? Or would you like me to do it?” 

Theli blinked in surprise, his midnight blue eyes flickering from Thranduil to Linwe and Teliemir and then back again, before he asked unhappily, “Didn’t you just do it?” 

Teliemir cleared his throat and inquired, “Pardon, Aran-nin?” 

“Watch the formality, Tel,” Thranduil scolded impatiently. He wasn’t going to put up with ‘my King’ing” from a good friend and trusted confidante when he was this tired. And also concerned that the exasperating Theli take this lesson about trust to heart. 

“Pardon again. Thranduil,” Teliemir amended his form of address, then asked, “what mutiny are you speaking of? I had figured out for myself that every well-meaning idiot who went on that foray had chosen to go, and that Theli had chosen to cover them on that by issuing orders. But I didn’t realize that there had been a mutiny.” 

Theli made another disgusted face, “‘Mutiny’ may be a little harsh . . .” he hedged uncomfortably. 

Thranduil laughed harshly, and then upbraided Theli, “Please do me the favor of refraining from adding another lie to your rather impressive record, my normally honest young friend.” 

Theli sighed disconsolately, and lamented, “I really didn’t want anyone else to know about this, Thranduil.” 

“I know, cousin, I know,” Thranduil comforted kindly but unflinchingly, “But I need to have a thorough conversation with you about trust, one that it would make the most sense to have with Rochendil and your former captains in attendance. If they don’t know what you did and why you did it, then a lot of this effort will be wasted.” 

Turning his attention to Teliemir and Linwe, Thranduil explained, “Taking his command out of the forest and through the Northmen’s and the Longbeards’ was not Ecthelion’s idea, or his first order. Nor any will of his. My beloved youngest son accidentally started a mutiny against my dear newly revealed cousin here. Legolas made it clear that he was going after the captives no matter what anyone else did, and over half of Theli’s command followed suit.” 

Linwe didn’t say anything, but Thranduil could tell that his oath-brother was both shocked and hurt. Thranduil read in the stiffness of Linwe’s shoulders and the minute tightening of his lips that his oath-brother felt betrayed, both by the lie and by Thranduil’s having helped to conceal it. The King’s heart ached at Linwe’s pain, and at own part in causing it. 

Fileg, under the table, kicked Thranduil’s ankle, which Thranduil much preferred as a reaction and generously chose to ignore. 

“Sweet Belain. You poor elfling,” Teliemir remarked, his hazel eyes full of compassion as well as consternation as he regarded Theli. 

Theli sighed. Then, even though Thranduil could tell that Teliemir’s sympathy had been soothing to Theli, the younger elf still protested, “I’m not an elfling, Captain Teliemir.” 

With a wry twist to his lips, Teliemir countered, “You served in my unit off and on for most of an Age, and you’re half an Age younger than I had believed you to be. Which means, among other things, that you are younger than my two oldest children. I’m afraid that I’m going to have a hard time seeing you as not an elfling for a time, Theli.” 

Quietly Linwe asked, “What really happened, Ecthelion?” 

Theli sighed again. Then, meeting Linwe’s resolute jade eyes, Theli explained, “I did the best I could with the situation I found myself in, Sir. Then I did the best I could to protect my elves and Men from the consequences of their having done what they thought was right.” 

Theli had never, to Thranduil’s knowledge, willingly given up the names of the elves who had actually mutinied, as opposed to those who had only agreed to keep the secret. 

So Thranduil spoke up again, explaining with a mix of wry exasperation and reluctant admiration, “That’s the most honesty you’re going to get out of my new cousin without pliers. So I’ll explain for him.” 

Turning to the oldest of his beloved heart-brothers, Thranduil revealed, “Theli gave the right order, Linwe. The order to go back for reinforcements instead of leaving the forest unsupported to go after unknown numbers of slavers, far from aid or succor. Theli’s only mistake up to that point was in giving that order with Legolas standing too far away to knock him over the head and bring him home before he could object.” 

“I promised Legolas that I wouldn’t do that again,” said Theli, which had terrifying implications for Thranduil as Legolas’ father, “but yes,” Theli continued, “Legolas rather cleverly made sure that he was out of my grabbing range before he spoke up. By the time that I could get to Legolas, Brand, Eyvin, and Orthad . . . I mean, some of my elves, were agreeing with him, and it was too late. I’d lost control of over half of my command.” 

Theli’s clearly evident self-loathing at the end of that statement made Thranduil’s heart ache, but still the father in him had to ask first, “Again? You’ve had to knock Legolas over the head to stop him from doing something brave but insubordinate before?” 

“I sedated Legolas, not hit him,” Theli corrected, seemingly relieved at the change of topic although still somewhat reticent as he concluded, “I’m really not a fan of hitting folk over the head. It can go wrong too easily.” 

“That’s the healer in you,” Thranduil teasingly complained even as he planned to have a chat with his youngest child, “thinking that drugging people is much safer.” 

“It really is,” Theli countered with confidence. 

Thranduil rolled his eyes and made a mental note to put Theli and Legolas together in a room and question them both further at the next good opportunity to do so. 

Then Thranduil returned his attention to Linwe, although he addressed Teliemir as well as he explained, “Theli’s idea of damage control was to agree to command the expedition in exchange for everyone agreeing to cover up the mutiny and let him claim that the entire ill-advised venture had been all his brilliant idea from the start.” 

Linwe took a deep breath, then said softly, “I see. Well, that is a relief.” 

“It is?” Theli asked, appearing both dubious and worried. 

“Is it?” Thranduil asked more thoughtfully, wondering, not for the first time but now more seriously, if he’d made a mistake by not telling Linwe this truth as soon as Thranduil had learned it himself. 

“That I didn’t make the mistake of entrusting command of my elves to an officer who would risk their lives in such a dangerous and unreasonable manner?” Linwe expanded, “Aye, it’s a relief. I’ll have fewer nightmares now.” 

“I didn’t think of that,” Thranduil said with a sigh of regret, “I should have, Linwe. And I should have told you the truth when I first learned it, just before what became the Battle of the Five Armies.”

Addressing the table at large again, since even Rochendil and Rochirion did not know this next information, Thranduil explained, “At the same time I found out about that, I also gave Theli a command to stay with Legolas, and protect him, no matter what my son did or what following him meant. I didn’t know when I gave that order how far Legolas would go in giving commands to have MY army remobilized into a position to support the Men of Laketown and those ridiculous dwarves against MY will, but, in truth, Theli did little more what I’d told him to do. Not that that was entirely an excuse,” Thranduil complained, with another exasperated yet fond glance for the only-half apologetic Theli. 

“I’m mostly sorry?” Theli offered, “As I told you at the time that I was, though I don’t think that you were ready to hear it then.” 

“No, I wasn’t ready to hear it, then,” Thranduil agreed, half-apologetic himself, “That was just after the two of you, Baeraeriel, Cellillien, and several of your other comrades had been in Laketown when the dragon attacked. I responded to that as a parent instead of a King, and some of my anger that week you did not deserve. Particularly not as I was, and am, deeply grateful that you never left my son’s side. No matter what fire you had to walk through – or swim through – to stay beside him.” 

Theli merely shrugged and accepted that half-apology with the counter that, “You don’t need to apologize, Thranduil. We were out of line, and I was older than Legolas and Baeraeriel, and had a responsibility to keep them out of trouble. And you don’t need to thank me. Legolas is entirely worth it. I help him not because he’s your son and you’re my friend and my King, but because he is my friend, and because I believe in his sense of justice.” 

Thranduil huffed indignantly at that, but had to concede, “Given that I don’t even know what to tell you that you should have done differently that week, I’m going to let that go. That situation, however, was different than your accepting blame and covering up the mutiny. And it was different from your deciding to take on those missions for the Wizard. Because when you went into Laketown, you at least had the support of your immediate supervisor, your prince, and your Army comrades.” 

Returning his attention to Linwe and Teliemir, Thranduil confessed, “I had thought that it would be an unkindness, to tell you what had really happened in the foray after the slavers, and then ask you to let the lie stand for official purposes. Which I do have to ask now, Linwe. And of you as well, Teliemir.” 

Teliemir nodded. 

Linwe stiffened slightly, “Are you asking as King, gwador-nin? Or as Legolas’ father?” 

“As both,” Thranduil answered, hating that he felt he must. 

Linwe took a breath, then answered, “I will obey your command, as King. As father, I would like permission to talk to your son as his Captain about what he chose to do that day.” 

Thranduil considered that, and then at length agreed, “As long as I am there with him when you speak to him, then you have it.” 

Linwe nodded his acceptance, his expression stoic, as it had been throughout the conversation. Still, Thranduil could tell that his heart-brother was hurt. Thranduil resolved to explain to Linwe in more detail than he had heretofore how much more sensitive the sea-longing had made Legolas, and that such sensitivity was why Thranduil had become even more protective of his son, even in respect of Linwe, whom Thranduil otherwise trusted unconditionally. 

Linwe moved his unreadable gaze to consider Theli before turning back to Thranduil, “General Rochendil seems already to have been aware of this. But Thranduil, I would also ask that you tell the truth of what happened to some other officers, such as Captain Medlithor and Captain Dithalos. They, too, spoke for Ecthelion, in choosing him to command that mixed elven and human party as its Sergeant. They should know that their having done so was not a terrible mistake.” 

Thranduil sighed, “Rochendil knows, yes, and has since just after Theli’s civil trial.” 

Rochendil noded in confirmation of that, and then explained further, “Ecthelion admitted the truth of what happened to the Elders at his civil trial for treason, after we had already expelled him from the Army. Elder Dirnaith deemed that I needed to know what had really happened, and shared that truth with me. But only after first asking for my silence.” 

“I see,” said Teliemir thoughtfully, “Well, that explains why Theli’s military sentence was almost commensurate with treason, but his civil sentence from the Elders was almost laughably light. I had wondered about that, not that I really minded. As I said, I’d guessed that the orders were a cover of some sort. And I would have missed you, had you been banished to the West,” he told Theli, who smiled shyly in response. 

“Yes,” Thranduil confirmed, “The life Theli put at risk, the only life that wouldn’t have been at risk otherwise, was his own. That, and the lie, are what the Elders punished him for. With a civil sentence which was, correspondingly, not a proper answer to treason.” 

Turning his gaze to Linwe, Thranduil added, “I promise you that I will consider whether Medlithor, Dithalos, and whomever else should also be told the truth.” 

After another deep breath, Linwe took the unusual – for him – step of repeating himself by saying, “They really should know, Thranduil.” 

“I second that,” Teliemir put in. 

Thranduil nodded his recognition, although he withheld from making a firm commitment. Legolas’ safety, rank, and reputation were at stake, as well as those of others. Medlithor’s and Dithalos’ confidence could be trusted, yes, but the more people who knew a secret, the more likely it was to get out. And Thranduil didn’t intend for this secret to get out until after Legolas had left Middle Earth. 

Into the ensuing quiet, Theli said diffidently, “If it makes a difference, I’m pretty sure that Captain Medlithor, like Captain Teliemir, already knows that I wouldn’t have taken anyone so far from the forest who wasn’t a volunteer.” 

With his expression still stoic nigh to the point of being unreadable, Linwe said, “I didn’t know that. I believed your report, my soldier.” 

“Because I’d never lied to you before, Sir,” Theli said apologetically, “And because I used the abilities I inherited from my grandfather to lie to you that first day, just as I lied to Thranduil and Dirnaith. I didn’t try to compel any of you – I wouldn’t do that to anyone who wasn’t an Enemy – but I did use power to keep anything but the lie out of my eyes when you asked me why I’d done what I’d done.” 

“I see,” said Linwe tightly. 

Teliemir reached past Rochendil to grasp Theli’s wrist and lecture, “You do realize, soldier-mine, that we could likely have talked that possible mutiny offense down to a charge of insubordination with extenuating circumstances for all of the soldiers under your command. And that Thranduil, Rochendil and Dirnaith likely would have granted you a pardon for treason on the grounds of the mutiny, and those same extenuating circumstances. Then at least you wouldn’t have been facing a possible execution for treason, or banishment to the West.” 

“Elder Dirnaith and I did point that out to Ecthelion,” Rochendil provided while regarding Theli with studied patience, “not long after we first learned the truth. And at some length.” 

“That wasn’t a chance I was willing to take,” Theli countered stubbornly and with passion, “Our Legolas having a reputation as a mutineer? No. I was willing to lie for that alone, for him alone. For any of the others, alone, although it wouldn’t have worked if the situation had been otherwise. If fewer of them had taken up his cause, I mean. But none of it would have been relevant, if I had been a good enough commander to get them to follow my first order.” 

“You can’t control everything, Theli,” Teliemir scolded gently. 

Showing what was for him an uncharacteristic amount of exasperation, Rochendil added, “And, as we have also discussed at some length on multiple occasions, young elf, it is not a crime to be mutinied against!” 

A little amused on one level that Theli could drive even the normally patient Rochendil to exasperation, but also still determined to get through to his friend, Thranduil supported his general’s point, “Rochendil is right, Theli. You could have gone back to the North Hall with your obedient soldiers, and left the others to their fate. You could have done that, and suffered no official ill consequences for it. I’m glad that you didn’t. I think that our soldiers were safer, because you didn’t.” 

Theli smiled sadly, but he also radiated a profound relief at knowing that Thranduil didn’t blame him anymore. It made Thranduil glad that he’d finally said something. 

At length Theli replied softly, “I thought so, too.” 

Linwe nodded his own agreement, but then quietly criticized, “The consequences to you aside, my soldier, it would have been helpful to me as his Captain to have known that Legolas was capable of doing something so ill-advised as that.” 

Startled, Theli asked incredulously, “You didn’t already know that Legolas would do something like that, Captain Linwe?” 

For the first time in this difficult conversation, Linwe’s expression – at least to Thranduil – betrayed some anger, although it seemed more aimed at himself then at Theli as he gravely replied, “You are right. If I’d asked myself that question, I would have known the answer.” 

“You didn’t ask only because Theli was successful in claiming all the blame for himself,” Thranduil reassured his oath-brother matter-of-factly, “thereby seeing that the question of Legolas’ conduct, and the conduct of his other soldiers, was never even raised. You shouldn’t blame yourself for that, Lin.” 

Linwe raised an eyebrow at Thranduil and gave him a lightning-quick half smile. As clear as words, Thranduil could hear Linwe say, ‘And why not, gwador-laes? You blame yourself for it.’ Thranduil was grateful that Linwe hadn’t bothered to say so aloud. Theli had enough to deal with in the moment without worrying about Thranduil’s guilt on top of it. 

Returning his attention to the quiet Theli, Thranduil said with great feeling, “I think, in a way, your decision not to come to me as you should have about these errands for Mithrandir was partially my fault.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” Theli immediately began to argue. 

Thranduil gave him a severe look, one that he normally reserved for his children after he’d already told them to listen to him once. 

It succeeded in quieting Theli, so Thranduil continued, “I should have told you, when I first found out, that it wasn’t acceptable to me that you had put yourself in danger by confessing to having risked the elves and Men you commanded in a treasonous manner. If I’d known that you were lying ahead of time, I wouldn’t have let you go through with it. At the very least, I would have done a better job of protecting you. And I should have told you that as soon as I learned the truth. Even though I didn’t say so, you should have known that I wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger of banishment or worse. After all, what did I tell you, when you took Thalion to your birth village for healing after your grandfather had put you under sentence of death if you returned?” 

Theli took a deep breath and acknowledged, “You told me to never again make the decision to put myself in danger without asking you first. You said that I should at least make sure that you knew what I was about to do. So that you could watch my back, and help me if I felt heart-sick after.”

“If you felt heart-sick after, and that inspired you to . . .” Thrandui prompted kindly but resolutely. 

“Make really bad decisions,” Theli said with a blush, “Like not sleeping, and then yelling at everyone after we had Thalion back safely.” 

Thranduil nodded, “Yes. That is the instruction I gave you, as your elder and your friend. And I made it clear that it was a command from your King as well, did I not?” 

“You did,” Theli conceded, still blushing. 

“I did. And you didn’t listen. And then you failed to obey, not just once but twice,” Thranduil censured unrelentingly. Softening his tone slightly, he asked, “Theli, do you trust me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: 
> 
> The story where Thranduil guesses the truth about what happened with the expedition after the slavers is “True Colors,” chapters 27 and 28 of “Tales of the Greenwood.” It can be found here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/26662959


	22. The Talk II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil continues his talk with Theli about trust, and about learning from old mistakes. Then something happens which Thranduil did not expect, as he and Theli share a series of visions which indicate that the two of them trusting one another will be very important to the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the relationship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in prior chapters of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/355624
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, his friend Linwe, General Rochendil, and Master Rochirion belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn.” – Neil Gaiman 
> 
> “[She] could indeed see the Future, but you must understand the limits of this power. Think of sight. You have eyes, yet cannot see without light. If you are on the floor of a valley, you cannot see beyond your valley. Just so, [she] could not always choose to look across the mysterious terrain. [She] tells us that a single obscure decision of prophecy, perhaps the choice of one word over another, could change the entire aspect of the future. [She] tells us "The vision of time is broad, but when you pass through it, time becomes a narrow door." And always, [she] fought the temptation to choose a clear, safe course, warning ‘That path leads ever down into stagnation.’” - ~ Frank Herbert in Dune ~
> 
> "The time to win a fight is before it starts." ~ Frederick W. Lewis, Brigadier General, US Army
> 
> “Perpetual optimism is a force multiplier.” – Colin Powell 
> 
> “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” - George Eliot
> 
> Excerpt from end of Chapter 21: 
> 
> [Thranduil] asked, “Theli, do you trust me?”

“Yes!” Theli protested fervently, “I trust you, Thranduil. I do! But you have to be the King, too. And the King can't always be just himself. I didn’t want to force you to have to choose between being yourself, Thranduil the father and Thranduil the friend, and being Thranduil-the-King.” 

“Very thoughtful of you, Ecthelion, and yet not your job,” Thranduil chided drolly, before asking, “And do you trust Rochendil?” 

With a shy and uncertain look for Thranduil’s general, Theli said, “I trust him, to lead your army well, and to always do the right thing if he can. And I trust him to be kind to all of his and your soldiers, if he can. But like you, he can’t just be himself. He has to be the general, too. So if he’d known about the mutiny, he would have had to have acted on it. I didn’t want him to have to.” 

“That wasn’t your decision to make,” Thranduil remonstrated firmly, “Not only did you suffer unfairly for it, but also, people doubted your judgment because of it. And that mattered later, Theli. Celeborn would have trusted in your judgement and listened to you, I would have listened to you, if you had just trusted us enough to tell us the truth of what had happened with the slavers. Even so, you should have trusted me to help you and your foolish friends with the tasks that the wizard assigned to you. Did you truly think that I wouldn’t understand the value of preventing the Enemy’s human servants from poisoning our human allies, and offer you my support?” 

“I thought that you would understand,” Theli said carefully, “but I wasn’t sure that you would agree, because it was Mithrandir asking.” 

“I would have taken more persuading because it was Mithrandir asking, yes, but I would have been persuaded,” Thranduil explained hotly, “Once I’d finished losing my temper and yelling at you, of course. Rochendil?” he ended, looking to his general and military alter-ego for confirmation that Rochendil, at least, knew Thranduil’s mind well enough to know that. 

“I agree, Thranduil-muin-nin, you would have supported it,” said Rochendil staunchly, “For my part, I believe that your council and our army would also have supported it. However, we would have insisted that Galadriel, Celeborn, and Elrond be fully advised of the matter.” 

Theli, who had been listening intently with a slightly abashed expression on his heart-shaped face, shook his head at that last and interrupted, “Right, and Elladan and Orophin didn’t want that, and since those were their fathers, I thought that it was their matter, really. And I really did think that Galadriel knew. That’s part of why I was avoiding her, I was angry. Not so much about her letting Orophin go, but about her not giving us more support.” 

“I understand that,” Thranduil said supportively, and that was true in part because he’d had his own arguments with Galadriel, whom he knew could be even more ruthless than himself, Elrond, and Glorfindel, “But you still should have told me, cousin.” 

“Yes, you should have told us, Ecthelion,” Rochendil strongly concurred, “If you had even trusted Nestorion or Nestaeth enough to tell them the precarious position that Lord Elladan’s and Lord Orophin’s willfulness, Mithrandir’s willingness to take advantage of it, and Lord Celeborn’s unwillingness to listen had put you in, they would have advised you to come to us.” 

“I know,” said Theli with genuine shame, “But I didn’t want to worry them.” 

Thranduil couldn’t help laughing aloud at that. Neither, apparently, could Fileg. 

“You didn’t want to worry them?” Thranduil repeated, torn between sarcasm and sheer wonder. 

“How do you think that they’re going to feel when they hear about this?” Fileg asked, seeming almost in awe at the sheer breadth of Theli’s foolhardy adventures. 

Theli winced and then shook his head, “I don’t know. I’m kind of dreading finding out.” 

“They love you, and they will forgive you,” Thranduil said, reinforcing his earlier point with steely calm. 

“After they kill you,” Fileg said, only half-teasing. 

When Theli paled noticeably at that, Thranduil kicked Fileg’s ankle under the table. 

“Ow! They won’t actually kill you, elfling,” Fileg amended, his innate kindness and his genuine fondness for Theli, even more than Thranduil’s silent rebuke, leading him to add, “They’ll likely give you a lecture you’ll remember for a long time, but Thranduil is right, they will forgive you.” 

“They will,” Rochendil agreed with compassion as well as rigor, “Although, like Thranduil, they will undoubtedly want to make sure that you do not make such an error in judgment again. They may also point out, as I will now, that while Mithrandir’s errands needed to be done, they did not have to be done by Elladan, Orophin, Melpomaen, or you. I am fond of those other three young elves, but they have never been my responsibility. You have, at various points in time. It was not your own will but battle sickness which took you from our army, and so you are, in a manner of speaking, still mine. Because I care for you, and because I always take care to choose the best soldier for any mission, I would have spoken up strongly against your going on these dangerous journeys yourself, as I believe that Elder Dirnaith would have done as well. This is not to say that I – we - do not respect you, Ecthelion. We do. But, as you admitted yourself, you are not particularly good at dissembling, or at speaking foreign languages without a strong accent. You're an excellent wrestler for your size and a scrappy fighter overall, but you're not a good enough swordsman or knife wielder for you to be near the top of my list of warriors to choose to operate so far from home and support.” 

Rochendil’s speech had garnered Theli’s close attention, and, at different points, his shy smile or an embarrassed expression. But at this point, Theli shook his head and argued in a respectful but determined manner, “I’m sorry, Sir, but yes, it did actually have to be me. You're right that I'm not good at lying without relying on power to do it. And you're right about my accent. And you're certainly right that I'm not one of the best warriors on Middle Earth. I’m not one of the best overall healers on Middle Earth. I may not even be one of the best surgeons. But I am one of the best battlefield surgeons, and at least twice, we needed one of the best battlefield surgeons. And I know more about poisons and remedies than anyone else I know, even Elladan. So that's the thing - it did kind of have to be me. And it kind of had to be Elladan, for much the same reasons as me, and because Thranduil is right, he's never not audacious - he doesn't let being scared stop him from analyzing and making good decisions. He doesn't let the situation being impossible stop him from making and discarding and remaking up strategies at a speed that only Adrahil could keep up with.” 

Theli took a deep breath and then continued, “And Orophin . . . is really good at seeing what people want, and then figuring out how to convince them that they want what we want. And that they want to tell us what we need to know. Adrahil was like that, too. Adrahil even knew who to punch in a bar in order to make the contact Orophin was buttering up react the way that we needed him to.” 

With silky menace, Thranduil interjected, “Elrohir is very good at punching people in bars. He may even be one of the most experienced at that of all the elves in Middle Earth. Why didn't you invite him along?” 

Theli sighed then explained breathlessly, as if desperate to be understood, “Because he can't ever not be himself, Thranduil. Can you imagine Elrohir even pretending to hit me because I spilled wine on him while I was pretending to be his slave?” 

“No,” Thranduil had to concede, before adding grimly, “and I don't like that you were pretending to be a slave, at all. I don’t know as any need for information could have justified that risk.” 

There it was, that infinitesimal momentary betrayal of fear and pain in Theli’s dark blue eyes. Thranduil cursed silently and made a note to pin down Elladan Elrondion, and make him tell Thranduil – and Glorfindel - whatever had happened to put that look in Theli’s eyes. 

Aloud, Theli argued back with dogged persistence, “Let's say you're right, Thranduil. But can you imagine Elrohir not rescuing a slave child who was being beaten in a market place? Or not helping even an adult slave, who was being mutilated for no good reason?” 

“No, I cannot imagine him being able to let that happen and not try to stop it. No matter who he was pretending to be, at the time,” Thranduil reluctantly admitted, “But I can imagine him accepting that he had to let his twin go on ahead of him into dangerous places, while he stayed behind to help lead the rescue force stationed just over the border, or as near to the border as safely possible. I know that I could have convinced Elrohir of that, because I know him.” 

“I think you're right about that,” Theli agreed in a crestfallen manner, “And a rescue force near the border would have been a really, really useful thing to have had,” he added wistfully. 

“You don't say,” Thranduil remarked sardonically. 

Theli sighed, seemed to struggle internally for a moment, then ventured in a tone which meandered between tentative and tart, “Not that I don't appreciate that you're not yelling at me, Thranduil, or sending me away until you're calm or something. And I know that most of the sarcasm is just 'you,' and it is sort of funny, but could you try not to lay it on quite so thick? I know that I made a bunch of mistakes. You don't need to keep rubbing my nose in that with ironic comments.” 

Thranduil huffed, almost laughing at Theli’s cheek, then offered, “I'll try, but no promises.” 

“Thank you,” Theli said, with a grateful but impish smile. 

“You're a bold one, Theli,” Fileg teased with some real admiration, “trying to take Thranduil's favorite coping mechanism away from him on a night like this.” 

“It's fine,” Thranduil dismissed that concern, without even another kick to Fileg’s ankle, “I rather like Theli as he is, bold and impertinent as he is. But, to return to our main discussion, I am willing to concede, for the purposes of argument, that it had to be you, Elladan, and Orophin who went on these trips. If you've convinced me of that much just in the last fifteen minutes, then you easily could have convinced me of the same during the months in between the second and third of your trips. During which, I believe, you did have the necessary time to travel back and forth between Gondor and the Greenwood.” 

“I can see that, yes,” Theli yielded, “But would Elrond and Celeborn have agreed to allow that?” 

Thranduil sighed, then summoned the patience to explain, “You know Elrond as your mentor, Theli. In other words, primarily as a healer, rather than as a leader, so I understand why you would ask that question, about what he would do. To venture ahead almost blindly in the hope of making you understand what kind of leader the elf with whom I co-governed Middle Earth for over 3,000 years really was, I ask you, Theli, what kind of healer was Elrond?” 

A light of comprehension dawned in Theli’s eyes and he said, “I think I see what you mean. He wasn't a conservative healer, when taking a big risk might pay off.” 

“Precisely,” Thranduil agreed, with an approving tilt of his head, “Elrond was that kind of leader, as well. Your point regarding Celeborn is better taken, however he did not govern Lothlorien alone.” 

“But Lady Galadriel almost always let him make final decisions about their children and their safety and . . .” 

“But every time she stood up and wouldn't agree to let him have the final say because she thought it was the wrong thing for not just Middle Earth but also the child in question,” Thranduil interrupted sternly, “or even just every time she said that there was no other way but that Middle Earth must come first, then cousin Celeborn yielded. Not happily, not easily, but he yielded. The point is, Theli, even if it had had to be the three of you, we could have made that happen. And we would have given you our support while you did all of it.” 

After taking a moment and a few deep breaths to summon his patience and suppress his horror at the very possibility of what he was about to suggest, Thranduil said quietly, “I can accept the idea that Mithrandir’s ideal agents in this case were you, Elladan, and Orophin, in part because I know that the three of you have some natural resistance to Enemy interrogation, on the basis of your mutual inheritance from your ancestress Melian. But a natural resistance would not have been enough, had you been hard-pressed. Did you think of that, Theli? What did you think would have happened if Elladan, Orophin, Melpomaen, or you yourself had been captured?” 

“Bad things,” Theli answered simply and somberly, “We all had false teeth implanted with poison, in case that happened.” 

Thranduil’s heart twinged at that. Repressing a strong urge to reach across the table and flick Theli’s ear, he kept his response to a fulminating snarl of, “Curse it all, Theli!” 

Fileg didn’t bother to repress the urge to flick Theli’s ear. He just reached across the table and did so. 

“Ow!” Theli exclaimed, lifting one hand to rub at his now-stinging ear and using the other to slap Fileg’s hand further away before Fileg could do the same thing again. Which, Thranduil recognized, was probably a wise precaution on Theli’s part. 

“Good,” said Fileg in response to Theli’s ‘oww.’ Then he lectured, “Even in the chronicles of stupid things you’ve confessed to doing tonight, Theli, that one is exceptionally stupid.” 

Still holding his ear with one hand, Theli miserably protested, “I’m sorry, but even though I didn’t know as much about our Kingdom’s inner workings as Elladan, Melpomaen, and Orophin knew about theirs, I still knew that I knew enough. I couldn’t take the chance that I’d be forced to give information to the Enemy’s servants, so I let Adrahil’s men pull out one of my back molars, and replace it with a false wooden tooth with poison inside it.” 

“Your life is not expendable, Ecthelion!” Thranduil quietly seethed. 

Seeming on firmer ground, Theli countered resolutely, “Everyone’s life is ultimately expendable, Thranduil. You fight in the front rank of your army; so does Legolas.” 

“We take calculated risks,” Thranduil retorted scathingly, “We make our plans carefully ahead of time, with input from our officers and advisors. We fight beside our bodyguards and comrades. You, alone in Enemy territory, unsupported save for three other elves and five humans, was not a calculated risk! Had we known what you were doing, we would have sent you with more in the way of support. Such as fellow soldiers trained at infiltration and assuming different identities. We also would have given you more than a senior officer’s standard training at resisting interrogation, before we sent you into Enemy lands!” 

Theli drew back a bit at Thranduil’s vehemence, but to Thranduil’s relief, he did seem to be listening. 

“That would have been really helpful,” Theli said thoughtfully, “Both of those things, actually.” 

“Imagine that,” Thranduil snapped. 

Then Thranduil took a deep breath, and said more calmly but still severely, “For your future reference, even after you have earned back the right to go where you will when you will, you are not allowed to have another poison tooth without my permission. Do you understand that, Theli?” 

“Yes,” his cousin admitted humbly, “But what if something comes up and I don’t have a chance to ask you?” 

“I think that you will, Theli,” Thranduil answered skeptically, “But I’m sure that if you don’t, you’ll do what you think is best. However, if you ever do end up in unfriendly hands . . . you are not to take poison before I’ve had a chance to offer a ransom for you. Do you understand that?” 

“But what if they want information, not money?” Theli worried. 

“Your life has more value to me than the secrets that you know, and those that you will know in the future,” Thranduil answered intently, “For your ease of mind, we’ll give you more advanced training at interrogation, and we’ll set up a series of codes. If you are captured and tortured, you’ll pretend to break, and give pre-agreed upon false information first. If you get to the point where you think that you’ll soon break in truth, you will give your interrogators a certain false fact. If you do break, in addition to whatever real information you give them, you will give another specific false fact. When the enemy acts on the false information, it will tell us that you’ve broken, so that we can adjust our security arrangements accordingly. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Theli said with a sigh, then further admitted, “And that would have been really helpful.” 

“I know,” replied Thranduil, his throat tight with the thought of how lucky Theli and the others had been to survive without that aid, even as he wondered how his father, Rochendil, Celeborn, and Elrond must have felt about Thranduil’s own adventures during the war. 

Dismissing that thought for the moment, Thranduil told Theli quietly but with feeling, “And that, all of that, is why I need you to trust me more. To trust Rochendil more, and our army’s commanders and Greenwood’s Council.” 

“I have something to add to that, Ecthelion,” said Rochendil, who had been largely leaving this lecture to his King. 

Thranduil waved for Rochendil to go ahead. 

The general said sternly, “Your inability to trust us, in combination with your episodes of battle sickness, is why you were not considered eligible for promotion in the army again, Ecthelion. We can’t know that we’ll be able to protect you, because we don’t believe that you’ll trust us to make the decisions that are ours to make.” 

“Oh,” Theli replied, looking a little shaken, “I . . . I hadn’t realized that. I had thought that it was because you were angry with me, or because you didn’t trust me, me. Not me, just as in would I tell you . . . you know.” 

“An incoherent but essentially accurate encapsulation of what we didn’t think,” Thranduil said irritably, albeit not without affection, “Can I trust that this discussion has at the least made an impression on you, Theli?” 

“Yes,” said Theli wholeheartedly, “but . . . I know that you, all of you, want what is best for the Greenwood, for all of us. But still I want to continue to protect and help those I love, as much as I can.” 

“Well, so do I,” mocked Thranduil gently, “But you are making it very difficult, in your own case.” 

“Oh,” said Theli again, softly and wonderingly, likely because he knew that Thranduil did not often openly discuss emotions. And because he understood that Thranduil must be determined indeed to make a point if he had resorted to doing so now. 

With a wry but almost tender smile, Thranduil teased, “A little slow on the uptake, aren't you, cousin?” 

“I suppose so,” Theli conceded, with a cheeky smile of his own, which it pleased Thranduil to see. Not only because it was a smile; but because it wasn’t a shy one. 

Then something happened which Thranduil had not expected, as his own sapphire blue eyes smiled back into Theli’s midnight blue eyes. Time suspended and vibrated, the room in Minas Tirith fading from Thranduil’s sight, replaced by the whirling nothingness and rushing air that preceded a Seeing of the future. 

Theli, who to the best of Thranduil’s knowledge had experienced general premonitions before but never anything so specific as a vision, panicked and tried to break the link between them. Thranduil focused on doing his best to silently comfort and reassure his cousin, without actually letting Theli step back to the present. 

Shared visions were rare, and took remarkable synchronicity of mind. It wasn’t just that Thranduil was surprised to have that much in common with Theli; he was surprised in general. Thranduil’s mind powers hadn’t been developed enough to sustain more than premonitions himself until the middle of the Third Age, when he had been just about the age that Theli was now, in fact. The King had participated in several trances with his mother before she sailed, and once had taken part in a vision quest with his cousin Elrond. Never before had Thranduil been the stronger seer in a trance, the one responsible for anchoring the experience. But insight into the future was too valuable to refuse, so Thranduil would just have to do his best. 

Theli, steadied by Thranduil’s silent support, stopped fighting the vision. The roaring wind resolved into the sounds of a battle camp at night. The first thing that Thranduil saw was the dazzle of stars shining off of soapy water in a tin tub. 

A tiny woman was bent over the tub, scrubbing dishes. Thranduil had only been ‘present’ in this unknown place for an instant before she looked up at him. 

Her surprised face was exceptionally lovely. Some of that beauty seemed to be force of personality, although her features were themselves very pleasing, and seemed to be a particularly attractive blend of Numenorean and Rohirric in origin. Thranduil wondered if she was a tolerable preview of Faramir’s and Eowyn’s daughter Theodwyn, when Theodwyn grew into a woman. Although even at four years of age, the tomboyish Theodwyn was more solidly muscled than this almost delicate woman. 

The starlit night leeched the color from the scene such that all Thranduil could say of the dishwasher woman’s coloring was that her skin was pale, her eyes were light, and her hair, which was mostly pulled back under a kerchief, was somewhere between blond and black. 

“Oh, Valar!” the woman exclaimed in exasperation, “Now? Oh, very well!” 

She dropped her dishrag with a splash, and in the same movement waved to a Man clad in the uniform of an Imladrin guard. He saluted her, then set off at a run. 

The beautiful woman turned her attention back to Thranduil, and complained in a tone of utmost frustration, “The red star fell at the beginning of this blasted month, I was almost afraid that you would never even show up, and I have no idea what THAT would have meant! But for Eru' sake, it's a Fifth Day!” 

Thranduil had no idea what that meant. Nor did he have any idea where Theli was, other than still nearby. 

That question was quickly answered, as Theli himself arrived at a dash. And it was Theli, although he was subtly but definitively different. He was dressed in fine but practical clothing and well-made chain link armor. And his hair was braided like a warrior of Doriath, but those were only surface differences. The real change was in the way he held himself, with a new gentle wisdom and confidence, as well as his normal earnest assurance and good humor. 

He was still himself, with the same kind, optimistic and somewhat impish smile. And it was true that Theli had always reminded Thranduil a little of Elrond. But now he reminded Thranduil even more strongly of Elrond. There was something of Celeborn about him now too, and even something of Thranduil himself in the more self-assured way that he stood. And there were new things about him that were all Theli’s own, as well. 

“You’ve changed,” Thranduil couldn’t help but say with satisfaction at the transformation he saw in this future-Theli. And the King was proud, too, because Thranduil thought that the alterations in Theli’s bearing must be in part a result of the plans Thranduil was forming to help Theli to feel more certain in his family, more confident of his own value, and more capable in his role as lord and leader. 

At the same time the woman stood up, put a hand on her hip, and scolded, “I'm very fond of you, Theli, but you have no more concept of what day of the week it is than a mayfly does!” 

“Now, really?” Theli said, clearly surprised himself, although he smiled warmly at Thranduil in welcome, “I was just in the middle of writing to him – to you.” 

“And I’ve been washing dishes every night for the past three and a half weeks, because that is what the two of you remembered that I was doing when I sent the signal by messenger that vision-Thranduil had arrived at last,” the woman accused.

Whether she was addressing Theli or himself, Thranduil was not sure, even as she continued, “I sincerely loathe washing dishes! Most of the food wasn’t appetizing even when it was fresh. Once it becomes old and soggy, it’s truly disgusting. Squishy and slimy and . . . yuck.” 

“Yes,” Thranduil agreed drolly, “I am unfortunately very well aware of how disgusting washing dishes at a war camp can be.” 

The woman tilted her head disbelievingly, “Really? I’ve never seen you clean a dish.” 

“He really is,” Theli agreed, with another gentle smile, “Maybe he'll even tell you why someday. But for now, we have to hurry.” 

“Well, now we do,” the washer woman agreed, “Sar . . . our contact is ready now, and she can't hold her end for long.” 

Theli frowned in concern, “Who is keeping the look out for her?” 

“It's Fifth Day,” the woman rejoined tartly, “so Strangler.” 

“We should pick up the pace then,” Theli said resolutely, offering the woman his right arm and gesturing with his left hand towards a mountain which rose above the surrounding tents, “Strangler may actually bite someone if they bother her while she's keeping watch.” 

“Right now I wouldn't care if she does,” the woman said acerbically, “It's been a week. If Certain Ch . . . I mean, leaders of people, don't keep their ignorant mouths shut about you-know-what, my sister or her husband are going to knock them into a midden.” 

“I know, Fl . . . my friend,” Theli said consolingly, “But we need to keep it from being a worse week.” 

The woman took a fortifying sigh and nodded, “Right. Come this way, Thranduil.” 

“If you insist,” he said, the lovely young woman’s acerbic manner wearing on his patience. 

Theli gave Thranduil a reassuring smile. The woman just rolled her eyes and started walking briskly. 

“Who are you, by the way?” Thranduil asked the woman sharply when they were far enough away from other ears not to be overheard. 

“It doesn’t matter who I am. You’ll recognize me in time, although I’m not sure when, exactly.” 

“An insufficient answer,” Thranduil criticized her. 

She gave him a commiserating look over her shoulder, “I’d like to be able to tell you more, Thranduil, I truly would. But you and Theli both didn’t know who I was after this vision, not for years after. And I can’t risk changing a past that has overall worked out well, merely for the sake of your curiosity, or my scholar’s desire to share information when asked.”

“She told me the same thing earlier,” Theli said in a more familiar tone of voice, when Thranduil looked questioningly to him, “I mean, I-me, future-me, knows who she is, and feels a close friendship with her, I know that much. But what Now-me, or I suppose past-me, sees and understands in this body, doesn’t tell me who she is. Other than a friend whom I trust completely. Mostly, it’s future-me who is in charge right now, doing the talking to you, and knowing what we’re about tonight. Now-me is just along for the ride. It’s decidedly odd.” 

The woman nodded to Theli, in confirmation that she couldn’t tell him who she was, either. Thranduil accepted that they would simply have to be satisfied with her non-answer. 

The woman - who was not, apparently, a dishwasher under normal circumstances - guided them up the slope, past look out points and sentry pickets, up to a glade overlooking a large tree-ringed lake. No one questioned them, or even seemed to notice them. The ‘Elrond effect,’ it appeared, in full force. 

“We’re still within the outlying guard perimeter,” the young woman explained as she walked over to a crystal clear pool formed by a spring bubbling out of the rock of the mountain face, “And no one is scheduled to scry here tonight, so we should be alone.” 

Thranduil hadn’t noticed until they entered the glade, but the air was . . . cleaner here, in this glade. Less oppressive. In the battle camp, despite the snatches of friendly conversation, songs, and even laughter Thranduil had heard from the human, elven, dwarven and hobbit soldiers, there had also been an aura . . . of darkness. Brooding threat. And it came from . . . 

Thranduil looked to the far shore of the lake that the glade overlooked, and found to his disquieted surprise that he couldn’t see all the way across. The far side of the star-strewn water was obscured in black clouds, with streaks of blood red running through them. 

“What in Eru’s name is that?” Thranduil snapped, appalled and even a little frightened, despite not really being there. After all, Legolas and Thalion and several others of his kin were here! Well, nearby, in the battle camp. Thranduil could feel their familiar and much-loved presences. 

“That’s why we’re here,” Theli explained with a heartening smile, “Our old Enemy is gone, but in his absence less potent but still evil beings have gathered new adherents and are attempting to seize greater power. We’re here to stop them, here and now. Before they can extend their influence further, and maybe succeed in threatening our homes and families.” 

The woman looked up from where she knelt beside the clear rock-fed pool, “We have something to show you, and past-Theli, something that it may help us for you to know. Somehow. And welcome, Thranduil, by the way,” she added with a friendly and sympathetic smile, “I apologize for my poor manners. A great deal depends on my properly channeling a Seeing of the future tonight, and I’m nervous. Anxiety makes me snappish. And unfortunately, as a prophetess, the best I can say about myself is that I’m a decent weather witch. At least we’re here on time.” 

Thranduil nodded back politely, willing to give her a second chance. Worry had a similar effect on his mood, at times. 

As the woman began to pray softly, invoking the Valar’s protection and guidance as well as that of her ancestors, Thranduil noticed again that in this glade, the malignant influence from the other side of the lake seemed lesser, somehow. 

“This glade is sacred to the Mother of . . . ah, this people's version of our Yavanna,” Theli explained for Thranduil’s benefit, “Her followers fought against what we're facing for a long time. Tragically, they all died save one novice, but they didn't give up.” 

“I'm sorry that they died,” said Thranduil gravely, “But I'm glad that they fought. This place feels . . . important.” 

“It is, even if only for this moment,” the woman said with an apprehensive smile. Then she reached under the neckline of her riding dress and pulled out a slender gold ring hung on a chain. With only the light of the stars, Thranduil couldn’t tell what manner of gem adorned the center of the ring. Whatever it was, it sparkled under the star light reflected in the clear pool. The woman’s delicate hand wrapped around the ring, as if she meant to use it as a focus to further gather her energies. 

“Here, Fl . . . my friend,” said Theli, reaching under his own mailshirt, tunic and undershirt to pull out a chain of braided leather and steel. There were five different pendants hung near the bottom, each suspended from its ownn chainlink so that they wouldn’t rub up against each other and risk making noise when Theli moved. 

In Thranduil’s memory, Theli had always worn a simple leather thong around his neck. Thranduil did recognize the totem suspended in the very center of his chain, the one in the shape of a willow tree. It wasn’t clearly visible in this dim light, but Thranduil knew it to be carved out of a single blood stone, one with colors of particularly vivid forest green jasper and fire red hematite. 

He also knew that the bloodstone willow tree had been a gift to Theli from Master Healer Nestorion, upon Theli’s attaining the status of full healer. The Greenwood willow tree was both a symbol used by Greenwood’s healers to denote their profession, and also a symbol of protection from all harm. Given that Theli’s becoming a full healer had coincided with him leaving his first profession to become a soldier trainee in Greenwood’s Army, Thranduil had always thought the totem to be a well-chosen gift. 

Also suspended from Theli’s new (to Thranduil) braided chain were two other stone pendants. One was in the shape of a lit torch, and the other in the form of a howling wolf. That particular wolf was one of Thranduil’s personal symbols. 

On the upper ends of the V formed by the objects suspended on the chain were two rings. The one by the wolf looked to Thranduil like a friendship ring in the Imladrin style, with three varying colors of metal woven together. The ring beside the torch was smaller and simpler, and looked like nothing so much as a marriage ring. 

The woman kneeling by the pool accepted Theli’s chain with a murmured thank you. She put it around her own neck, then wrapped her slender fingers around both her own marriage ring and Theli’s bloodstone tree. 

After a moment of silence, she looked up again at Thranduil and Theli. She said with utmost solemnity, “Please pay attention, Elves. I can probably only do this once.” 

Thranduil was tempted to say something sarcastic in response to that, but the woman’s evident uneasiness, and his own concern, stopped him. 

Although she was an attractive woman, and even charming when she smiled, she didn’t have the same aura of power that Thranduil associated with Galadriel, his mother, and Elrond. Or even Orophin and Arwen. Thranduil was afraid that if they were relying on this woman to show them something important about the future, then this might be a waste of a vision. And given what lurked on the other side of that lake – whatever it was – that thought worried Thranduil. 

The woman moved her hands as if she were gathering skeins of thread and setting them up on a loom, only instead of a loom, she plunged her hands into the pool. Suddenly, it was as if more than two dozen other Seers were all present in the clearing with them, their voices singing, their Power flowing through the slender woman into the water. 

“Sweet Belain,” Thranduil said, nearly in awe. Like this, the unimposing human woman was still not a match for Galadriel or Elrond with their rings of power, or for his mother Felith and the other priestesses of the Greenwood when they combined their powers. But she was a deeply impressive figure, all the same. He would never have thought that a Man, any Man, let alone this small unimposing woman, could ever channel that much Power. 

And surely, their foreboding enemies on the other side of the lake couldn’t possibly miss this, not with her lit up with Power like a beacon! Sauron wouldn’t have, in his day. Thranduil and his fellow commanders had taken great care to ward their major workings of Power from their Enemy’s malignant attention during the War. Thranduil looked warily across the lake to the dark menacing clouds. 

“Don’t worry,” Theli said softly, “We have a contact in their army. She doesn’t have that much Power, relatively speaking. But she’s very good at hiding things. She’s masking what we’re doing tonight, making it seem no more than a typical attempt at seeing the future.” 

Well, that was reassuring, in its way. Thranduil turned his attention back to the woman and the pool. 

The surface of the water roiled, rippled, and then glimmered. When it stilled again, Thranduil could clearly see in the pool a vision of two armies attacking each other. The two large forces clashed on the right side of the lake overlooked by the glade. 

Thranduil was confused at first, because there were old Enemies on both sides of the battlefield. On the side of their foes, Thranduil had expected to see the banners of Sauron’s chief human allies, the Chieftains of Rhun, the Emirates of Harad, and the Imperial Dragon Princes of Khand. And Thranduil did see some of their standards amongst the troops of this new enemy; but not as many as he’d expected. 

And, in the new enemy’s ranks, Thranduil saw only the flags of the worst of the Rhunnic Clans, the cruelest of the Mirzas of Harad, and the most cold-blooded of the Khandian princes. Also on this new enemy’s side fought orcs, just as strong and merciless as Thranduil remembered them, but now appearing almost as unfeeling as automatons. They showed no hate or anger; but also no pain. 

On the other side of the battlefield, beside the banners of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, flew the Winged Crane of the Dragon Emperor of Khand and the Sand Cat of the Emir of Far Harad. Rohan’s storied Riders charged into the fray, White Horse banner waving. Beside them galloped the small and agile ‘flying’ horses of the Great Western Chieftain of Rhun, under their Blood Hawk flag. 

Thranduil remembered the flying horses of Western Rhun, and their deadly riders, very well. He’d lost soldiers and friends to them during the War of the Last Alliance. 

With a shot of panic, Thranduil realized that it was the Crescent-Moon-on-Forest banner of Ithilien-en-Edhil soaring on the other side of the Rhunnic riders. It was almost with relief that the King spotted That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli’s flag of Aglarond flanking Ithilien-en-Edhil on the other side, and then Gimli’s great plate armored figure guarding Legolas’ back alongside Thalion and Baeraeriel. 

The Elves, Dwarves, and the Men allied with them – including the former enemies - were holding their own. And that despite rains of fire which fell from the sky! Thranduil’s heart almost stopped as flames nearly engulfed Legolas, Thalion, Baeraeriel, That Annoying Dwarf Gimli, and some of his almost equally annoying rock-headed cousins. 

Thranduil shouted, then reached a hand out to try to stop the fire about to consume his youngest son. Only to have Theli catch his hand before it could plunge into the pool, reminding the King that this was all only a vision-within-a-vision. But still, Thranduil’s relief was boundless as, just before the flames reached the helm of Legolas’ helmet, they dissipated. Some into sheets of water which had come from nowhere, and some of the flames . . . simply disappeared. 

Legolas and his comrades began making a renewed push forward, coordinated with the Gondorian infantry and the Rohirric . . . and Rhunnic . . . cavalries. Their Rhunnic enemy’s . . . former enemy’s . . . western cavalry was made up of three distinct companies. One was led by a man in Blood Hawk armor, the second by a woman in Flying Horse armor, and the last column was led by a man in Sand Wolf armor. 

The Gondorian infantry, Rohirric cavalry, and the Aglarondian infantry got bogged down under the onslaught of two different companies of orcs and trolls. The monsters didn’t even seem to notice as they were cut down, one by one. Thranduil saw an orc get its body near sawed in half by a dwarven axe and just keep going forward, a blank expression on its face. Actually, all of the orcs’ faces were oddly expressionless. It was somehow even more unsettling than the beasts’ sadistic leers and their vicious, guttural howls which Thranduil remembered from the War of the Last Alliance. 

Far more horrifying than the orcs’ strange expressionlessness was the fact that their lack of fear and grinding persistence had left the Rhunnic cavalry as Legolas’ only support. Legolas, as well as the Rhunnic commanders in the Blood Hawk and the Flying Horse armors, were all too far back to see that Gondor, Rohan, and Aglarond weren’t in position to reinforce them in their advance. 

But the Rhunnic chieftain in the Sand Wolf armor could see the problem. Thranduil even noticed the Sand Wolf’s second-in-command and personal guards further calling their leader’s attention to it. And yet the Sand Wolf still called for the advance anyway, waving their forces forward directly into the flying swords of their foes. 

It was like watching Oropher’s charge at Dagorlad all over again, only now it was Thranduil’s son instead of his father falling under impossible odds. Dagorlad had been a tragic accident, a mix-up of signals between Ereinion Gil-galad’s commanders and Oropher’s commanders. This looked like the Sand Wolf had purposely sent Thranduil’s son and hundreds of other warriors to die. And then the Sand Wolf turned on his allies, ordering his own confused riders to begin slaughtering the Ithilien-en-Edhil elves and the Rohirrim. 

The colors of the vision in the pool began to run together, like a painting being drenched in water. The woman pulled her hands out of the crystal pool, which became just water again. Then she moved her hands as if she was taking one panel of fabric off of a loom and then placing another one on. 

Looking up to Thranduil and Theli, her eyes reflecting the stars, the woman said in an echoing voice, “Because of what you did this day, Theli and Thranduil . . . the day that you came from . . . our better Seers say that disaster won’t happen, instead . . .” she plunged her hands into the water again, and said, “this will. Watch.” 

Thranduil watched. It was the same again, only this time, thank the Valar, the Rhunnic chieftain in the Sand Wolf armor never gave the bad signal. Instead he wisely waved Legolas and his fellows back, and together they waited until Gondor, Rohan, and Aglarond had finished cutting through the orcs – quite literally – to advance. To Thranduil’s intense relief, they looked to be winning the day. 

They were certainly gaining ground. And they were doing so despite more fire falling like rain from the sky. At least, until dark clouds of acid began bellowing up in the midst of their advancing ranks, obscuring key strategic vantage points and also burning the exposed skin of the Elves, Men, and Dwarves. Or at least so Thranduil gathered from their cries of pain. 

“Curse it all, that’s a new one,” muttered the woman channeling the vision, “Well, let’s see how they like this . . .” 

She moved her hands within the clear water as if she were pulling out threads and then weaving them back in elsewhere in the design. Even as Thranduil watched, some of the dark clouds were blown away by breezes carrying flower petals. Others were washed away by torrents of water. Sometimes, the flows of water came complete with fish and the occasional small, confused squid. Thranduil saw one of the enemy Dragon Princes fall from his horse, dropping his weapon and clawing with gauntleted hands at a panicked octopus which had clamped itself onto the front of his helmet, obscuring his sight. 

“Flashfire, end the vision. Now.” Theli ordered, with his new gentle but compelling authority. 

“But if I can . . .” 

“No. You’re too spent. You’re going to hurt yourself. End it. Now.” 

“Fine.” 

The woman pulled her hands from the water. The Power she had been channeling ended, leaving her once again just a small female human. While she had wielded the strength of over two dozen different Seers, she had been a force to be reckoned with. Now, she looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut, as she sat collapsed by the pool. She smiled tiredly but victoriously at Thranduil and Theli. 

Thranduil wondered, absently, what it must be like to have that much power, and then lose it. He wondered, at times, what it would be like to be a King, and then to become only . . . whatever he would become, in the West. He didn’t always like being a King; but he did like having the power to protect his elves. And he didn’t know what he’d do with himself, no longer having the responsibility for leading them all and protecting the forest which had been his home since he was a small elfling. 

“I don’t mind,” the woman assured Thranduil in a friendly fashion despite her evident exhaustion, “Power like that was never meant to be any man’s – or woman’s – forever. I am glad to be able to channel it. And I am glad for my other gifts. Because they help me to protect me and mine. But it is enough that the world contain such beauty and strength. I don’t need to own all of that beauty and strength for myself.” 

“Are you reading my thoughts?” Thranduil asked suspiciously, not having felt any such Power from her, after she let go the vision. 

“No. Your face,” she explained, “Reading minds isn’t one of my gifts, but I learned how to read faces young. Besides, you and I, we have a history. Or we will have, someday. I have to pay careful attention to the shade of your eyes, which gives away the pitch of your temper, in order to have any idea whether you’ll put me in a place of honor at the next feast, or alternatively try to seat me at the children’s table.” 

“Oh?” Thranduil asked, “Tell me, then, oh knowledgeable one. What did Theli and I do, that the Rhunnic Chieftain in the Sand Wolf armor doesn't betray my son Legolas and his allies?” 

She gave Thranduil a strained smile, “That's the fun of visions. We really have no idea of the specifics. That's a large part of why you and I both think that the prophetic sight is almost worse than nothing. Whereas optimistic Theli is just grateful for the help, any help.” 

“I remember,” said Theli, with affection and that new quiet confidence which continued to please Thranduil, “That the night we shared this vision was the night that you and I decided to trust eachother. Or rather,” he amended with a rueful smile, “the night that I promised to tell you if I was going to do something stupid. And you promised to really think about whether it was a good idea or not, and to support me if it was, even if you were angry about it.” 

“That’s it? That’s all the guidance you have for me? Either of you?” Thranduil demanded, torn between irritation and disbelief. 

“Well, maybe you’re the one who is going to do something stupid, and I’ll be the one to take a chance and trust you,” Theli offered, with a cheeky grin. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me,” Thranduil said drolly. 

“Oh, it’s much less likely to be you,” the woman blithely assured Thranduil, “You sometimes complain that being a King leaves you with too few opportunities to do stupid things.” 

Thranduil gave her a look. It worked on his children. She just smiled back at him. 

“I know that, whatever it is we have to do to save Legolas and the others, we’ll manage it,” Theli said with that same likable, inspiring quiet confidence. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes. I know it, because I know you. And you don’t give up.” 

Thranduil couldn’t help but be touched by that, even though he also couldn’t help wishing for more in the way of guidance. 

The woman laughed lightly, “Theli’s real power is that he believes in people. That, and the eternal optimism. He’s like my father, like that. Although Ada is somewhat more patient with it.” 

Theli favored her with a patient look of his own, then told Thranduil hearteningly, “Just remember whatever it was that we did or decided today, Thranduil. Probably near the moment when you came here from. It will be important that we do it, or hold to it, whatever it is or was. And don't tell anyone else what we saw, because you and I were the only ones who knew the what, where, and when for this.” 

“Albeit in insufficient detail,” the woman criticized fondly, “Elves. You can't even keep track of what blasted decade it is. ‘I remember that the vision happens not all that long after the red star falls,’ honestly.” 

“Let me guess. Theli also told you this happened on some night other than Fifth Day eve?” Thranduil ventured. 

“First Day, or maybe Third Day, he said,” the woman explained exasperatedly. 

“I see,” said Thranduil, who was somewhat amused by the notion of someone else having to deal with Theli’s somewhat flexible ‘wood elf’ sense of time. 

“He . . .” the woman began, in the same frustrated but still loving tone, only to break off, her expression suddenly going distant.

“Wait,” she said, “I think I can actually show you something else, or rather Gwilin can, if I help her. It’s almost too tenuous even for our best caster of nets, but if I reach out and gently pull . . .” 

Thranduil felt reality, such as it was in this future place, vibrate and sing as the woman moved her hands again. 

Then she nodded in resolve, “Hold onto your connection to each other, and . . . Pay Attention, Elves!” 

Before Thranduil could complain about the woman’s peremptory tone and insultingly categorical term of address and call her ‘human,’ reality whirled, once again fading into the nothingness of impending Sight. 

This time the vision was, as the woman had warned them, even more nebulous than the last. Even as this possible future came into focus, it felt flimsy and insubstantial to Thranduil. As if it might float away at a single wrong breath. 

It was another battle field, this one almost unrecognizable as such to Thranduil’s shocked eyes. Small mobile metal mountains and hills rumbled over the battlefield, sometimes with a dwarf poking his helmeted head out of the tops of them. The mobile mountains shot strange but powerful arrows at dark shapes flying above. When Thranduil looked more closely, he could tell that the shapes above the battle field were dragons! When he looked yet more closely, he recognized amongst them the great dragon Ancalagon the Black from paintings of the War of Wrath. There were also dragons made out of metal. All of the dragons screamed and roared and breathed fire overhead. 

There were horses, and Thranduil wore armor and carried a sword, but he carried other weapons, as well. Long metal tubes, and also roughly triangular crystal and carved mithril . . . things. He wore armor, but it was so light, he could barely feel it, and it was also covered in strange carvings and drawings. 

Incredible storms raged overhead, and voices on Thranduil’s side of the battlefield were singing extraordinary songs. Inspiring and powerful ballads of hope, love and valor. 

On the other side of the battlefield raged monsters, and different Singers. Their songs almost made Thranduil’s heart quail within his chest, so full were they of malice, rage, and the desire for tyrannical dominion and supreme ascendancy at any cost. 

He ‘heard’ and felt something of the familiar evil of Sauron in their new enemy’s Songs, and even something of Theli’s enemies from across the lake in their last vision. He also felt something older and fouler than even Sauron. Something that delighted in fear, including Thranduil’s fear. That last made Thranduil straighten up and school himself to feel only resolve. 

It helped that he could also feel the reassuring sense of the presences of his father Oropher, his mother Felith, his wife Minaethiel, and their slain children Thrandrin, Eryntheliel, and Lithidhren. He could also sense his cousins Amdir, Amroth, Elrond, and Celebrian. Thranduil could feel them all, and draw support from their love and faith, as if they were all alive and well again, and physically not that far from Thranduil at all. 

Also supporting Thranduil, just behind his back, he could feel the steadying presences of Boronthor, Fileg, and Linwe. At Thranduil’s side, wonder of wonders, was their much-missed fourth oath-brother, Veassen. Also beside Thranduil were his human friend Elendur Isildurchil from the War of the Last Alliance, as well as Thranduil’s heir Thandrin, their cousin (and Thandrin’s apparent second-in-command) Baeraeriel, and another elf with insignia similar to Thranduil’s who looked like Thranduil’s cousin Saeldur, but who wasn’t actually Saeldur. 

Facing them in an oasis of calm amidst the battle chaos were Theli and Legolas. Theli was meeting Thranduil directly in the eyes, while Legolas was mumbling to himself and looking down at a flat square arm-cuff that he wore on his wrist. As Thranduil watched, Legolas touched the square on his wrist with his fingers, which made it turn different colors and show different symbols. 

Behind Theli and Legolas stood an elleth even daintier than Baeraeriel, a man and a woman, and two ellyn who looked familiar to Thranduil, but whom the King couldn't quite place. 

Thranduil felt like a passenger inside his own body as he heard himself demand fiercely of Theli, “And if you and Legolas die today, then who is going to handle the aerial scouting tomorrow? And every day thereafter?” 

“Yes, you’ve got a point,” Theli conceded, once again with his new gently confident smile, “And yes, we're probably going to go down. But we can survive it if Legolas and Gimli time things just right.” 

“What do you mean, if?” Legolas retorted, still looking down at his wrist and tapping on his square cuff. Thranduil had no idea why Legolas was so very interested in his personal adornment at a time like this, but it was at least clear that Thranduil’s baby son didn’t lack for belief in himself. 

Theli smiled, and this time his expression showed pride in, and affection for, Legolas, as well as his own customary rueful good humor, as he said, “If they pull it off, Thranduil, then you just might be able to advance to our new position with the second wave in time to save us from being captured. But no matter what else we try to do, Glorfindel's, Earnur’s, Arandil’s, Fror’s and Aragorn-the-Older’s units can't break through the Enemy lines to the left without our cover fire. You need to give the order for us to go up, and trust us to do our job, my friend and cousin. And you need to trust in your own abilities, even though we lost the last battle and you were in command. That wasn't your fault, and now you need to trust us, and yourself, one more time. Even though you really don't want to.” 

The-Elf-Who-Wasn’t-Saeldur put a reassuring hand on Thranduil’s shoulder, and told him, “He’s right, muindor-laes.” 

Thranduil felt himself-in-the-future agreeing, and then the vision ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil’s and Theli’s second vision at the end of this chapter is of an AU version of Dagor Dagorath, Middle Earth’s ‘Battle of all Battles,’ an apocalyptic event foreseen by Mandos. Near the end of time on Middle Earth, Morgoth (Sauron’s old boss who was defeated during the War of Wrath in the First Age) escapes from his prison. After Morgoth is defeated at Dagor Dagorath, a new world will be sung into existence by the elves and men. For the purposes of my stories, Dagor Dagorath is part of an entire long war for the future of existence, instead of just a single stand-alone battle. And the victory of the forces of light is by no means assured. 
> 
> The woman channeling the two different versions of a battle in a scrying pool during Thranduil’s first vision (which was set later in the Fourth Age during the Second Blood Mage War) was Mithiriel, Theli’s future wife and Faramir and Eowyn’s middle daughter. Mithiriel is only a little over a year old in the ‘present,’ when Thranduil has just learned that Theli was his cousin, and that Theli nearly died a number of times in Enemy lands during the last century or so. 
> 
> The three Blood Mage wars form an important part of a series of events I came up with in order to give my Fourth Age characters something heroic and important to do. My events are a little similar in theme to some of Tolkien’s vague Fourth Age ideas for challenges that Eldarion (Aragorn & Arwen’s son and heir) might have to deal with. 
> 
> Tolkien considered writing about Eldarion’s reign in a book called “The New Shadow,” about Eldarion trying to stop some of his people from turning to evil practices. The Blood Mages in my AU are former pupils of the Blue Wizard Alatar. They killed their teacher Alatar and turned to dark ways centuries ago, while living mostly in the countries of Rhun, Harad and Khand, lands controlled by humans loyal to Sauron. By the Fourth Age, the Blood Mages are killing and burning human, elven, dwarven, and orcish victims in order to create greater and greater power for themselves to wield. They also try to expand outside of their traditional areas of influence, in order to gain more power. 
> 
> My stories that have to do with the Blood Mages or what the Blood Mages can do include: 
> 
> “Nepotism,” a Legolas and Gimli ficlet which takes place during the Second Blood Mage War, after Legolas has been rescued from the Blood Mages after being taken captive during an earlier battle. It is available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875961
> 
> “Great Mistakes,” a story about the Blood Mages setting siege to Imladris, and Eldarion, Elboron, and Elboron’s younger brother Elion coming to the rescue. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875881
> 
>  
> 
> “Burning Mad,” which is about Faramir’s middle daughter Mithiriel (an OC) being kidnapped by a mage who is similar to the Blood Mages that the Fourth Age characters will meet later. “Burning Mad” is available here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887622/chapters/29441016
> 
> For background on Legolas and Theli and their talk of “going up” in order to “provide air support,” they, along with Mithiriel and Gimli, found a company in the West which comes up with a version of air planes. For just a little bit of information on that, see “Sun Up,” a little ficlet about Legolas, his wife Raniel (a fellow flyer) and their son Aragorn when he is a toddler. It is available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890359
> 
> The dainty elleth whom Thranduil sees behind Legolas in his vision of Dagor Dagorath is Raniel, Legolas’ wife and fellow flyer. One of the ellyn whom Thranduil think look familiar but whom he can’t quite place is Aragorn Legolasion, Thranduil’s oldest grandson, and Legolas and Raniel’s son.


	23. The Talk III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Theli wake from their vision, and pledge to trust one another. Thranduil begins to make good on his promise to keep closer track of Theli. Theli isn’t so sure whether that’s really a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: The term ‘bedfellows,’ as it is used in this chapter means simply “one who shares a bed with another,” and has no romantic implications. In the medieval sense of the term “bedfellow,” it often referred to persons of the same gender and similar status sharing a bed, just to sleep in. The term is used in Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado About Nothing,’ to say that Hero and Beatrice hadn’t shared a bed the night before Hero’s wedding (when the alleged adultery was said to have occurred), but that Hero and Beatrice had been bedfellows every night otherwise for the past year (such that if Hero had ever been unchaste before, Beatrice would have known about it, so she’s asserting her friend Hero’s customary chastity.) 
> 
> A/N 2: More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 3: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, Thranduil’s friend Linwe, General Rochendil, and Master Rochirion belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please read all warnings. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 4: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes chapter 23: 
> 
> “Some people have inspired whole countries to great deeds because of the power of their vision. And so could he. Not because he dreams about marching hordes, or world domination, or an empire of a thousand years. Just because he thinks that everyone’s really decent underneath and would get along just fine if only they made the effort, and he believes that so strongly it burns like a flame which is bigger than he is. He’s got a dream and we’re all part of it, so that it shapes the world around him. And the weird thing is that no one wants to disappoint him. It’d be like kicking the biggest puppy in the universe. It’s a kind of magic.” ― Terry Pratchett 
> 
> “We're paying [him] the highest tribute you can pay a man. We trust him to do right. It's that simple.” ― Harper Lee 
> 
> “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” - George Eliot
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 22 excerpt: 
> 
> “Thranduil felt himself-in-the-future agreeing, and then the vision ended.”

Thranduil’s consciousness returned to the present. What a relief it was to find himself back in the familiar surrounds of his guest apartment in Minas Tirith! Although Thranduil still felt mightily disoriented. He didn’t even know how long he and Theli had been sharing their visions of the future, and then the even-farther-away future. 

However long it had been, it had been enough time to concern their companions. Fileg had his hand on Thranduil’s right shoulder, while Rochendil was kneeling beside his King’s chair and gently massaging Thranduil’s hands to aid him in coming back to awareness of himself. Linwe approached Thranduil from the other side, bringing him a fortifying goblet of wine. 

“Thank you,” Thranduil murmured to all of them. He accepted the wine from Linwe with a nod, squeezed Rochendil’s palm with his other hand, and then nudged Fileg’s arm. 

“I’m back,” Thranduil assured them, “And all is well.” 

Or at least Thranduil thought so. He looked over to Theli on the other side of the table to be sure. 

Less accustomed to visions even than Thranduil, Theli was still shuddering lightly, but seemed otherwise calm. Rochirion and Captain Teliemir were caring for him as Fileg, Linwe, and Rochendil were helping Thranduil. Theli declined the wine, though. 

“Drink it, mellon-nin,” Thranduil recommended kindly but inflexibly, “It will steady you.” 

Theli shook his head, “I hate the taste. And I don’t like how it makes me feel.” 

Thranduil knew both of those things. He even knew the sad reasons behind the latter. The King also realized that he didn’t even have any of the sparkling semi-sweet wines that Theli did actually like the taste of. At length he allowed, “Some sweetened tea, then.” 

Rochirion patted Theli’s shoulder then headed for the sideboard, likely intending to re-heat some of the tea from earlier this evening. 

Thranduil waited for the tea to be prepared, and for Theli to drink some of it, before he met his cousin’s midnight blue eyes again and said sternly, “Theli, in the future, it is absolutely imperative that you trust me, and our Army leaders and our council lords and Elders. You need to tell us whatever stupidly dangerous thing you're thinking about doing, and then you need to let us help you.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Theli promised earnestly, “But you, too. You can yell if I tell you something that infuriates you, but you have to listen to me after you're done yelling. And you have to trust me, too.” 

Thranduil smiled ruefully, “Why do I have the feeling that this is going to be one of those decisions that is easy to make in the present moment, but very difficult to hold to, in the future?” 

Theli shook his head and grinned back as he agreed, “If it wasn't, possible-future-me and Mystery-Woman-It-doesn't-Matter-Who-I-Am-Pay-Attention-Elves probably wouldn't have gone to the effort of washing dishes and setting up a signal for three weeks running.” 

“Thranduil,” Rochendil queried with concern, “What happened? What did you See?” 

“I’m sorry, ‘Chendil, but I can't tell you,” Thranduil informed his beloved mentor regretfully, “Besides just to say this . . . remind me of what we've hashed out tonight if I forget it.” 

“I see,” said Rochendil, patient but, at least to Thranduil’s eyes, clearly dissatisfied on some level. 

“Trust me, 'Chendil,” Thranduil assured his mentor with a self-deprecating smile, “I know every bit how aggravating I’m being, because I used to hate it when Galadriel said similarly irritating things to me.” 

With a forgiving and affectionate smile, Rochendil replied, “Oh, I remember, my elfling. I felt sorry for you then, but I was glad that you were bold enough to press the Lady of Lorien for more information. And I'm sorry for you now, but if anyone in the world has to have information that can help us in the future but which they can't share, I'm glad that it's you.” 

The two elves exchanged smiles. 

Theli put his tea aside and then laid his head down on top of his arms on the table and almost moaned, “I'm so tired.” 

“I know, elfling cousin-mine,” Thranduil comforted, realizing that since he was shaken and startled by what he’d just seen, and exhausted from the strain of holding the vision for so long, then Theli, who was less experienced, and who had also had a very emotionally demanding night, must be all the more so. 

Theli mumbled into his arms, “’M not an elfling, Thranduil.” 

“Compared to me, you are,” Thranduil retorted, doing his best to stifle a laugh. More seriously, he continued, “And you’re my cousin. You can rely on me to help you, and to watch out for you.”

Theli picked his head up from his hands and looked Thranduil in the eyes. The King could see that his long-time friend and new-found cousin almost desperately wanted to learn to rely on that affection and support, but was having trouble letting go of his fears enough to actually do so. Thranduil would have to work on that. But it would be fine. He had time. 

At length Theli said, “That’s really kind of you, Thranduil, but you don’t need to protect me. I’m not your responsibility.” 

“Actually, you are now,” Thranduil reminded Theli mildly, his tone turning stern as he added, “Please do adjust your thinking and your decisions accordingly. You won’t enjoy the consequences if you err thusly again.” 

That seemed to have been the right thing to say, since a little of the haunted expression faded from Theli’s eyes. The younger elf said in a wry and rueful tone, “I doubt that I’m going to enjoy the consequences of keeping quiet about the nine trips to Enemy lands already, Thranduil.” 

“Not just keeping quiet about them,” Thranduil scolded, “But also going on them. Did you really think that you wouldn’t be in trouble on your own account? For risking your own life?” 

“Not with you, I didn’t,” Theli said ruefully. 

“Well, you are,” Thranduil informed him matter-of-factly. 

Theli tilted his head worriedly and asked, “How much trouble?” 

Thranduil wasn’t sure what to say to that. 

Fortunately, Rochendil came to his assistance, chiding, “Your King and cousin likely hasn’t yet thought that matter through entirely, Ecthelion. Thranduil may also wish to consult with me, as I have my own thoughts on the matter. Were I you, I would not press Thranduil for an answer now.” 

Theli glanced uncertainly between Rochendil and Thranduil. Thranduil noted the flash of fear in Theli’s eyes as he beheld the general. Rochendil saw it, too, and Thranduil also observed the sorrow in Rochendil’s own eyes at being feared by one of his loyal soldiers. 

“I didn’t mean to be rude by asking, General Sir,” Theli replied in a politely and warily respectful tone, “If Thranduil doesn’t know, I thought that he would just say that he didn’t know.” 

“It was fine to ask me, Theli,” Thranduil assured his cousin, “I’m not angry that you asked. But Rochendil is correct, I do not yet know. I will inform you when I do know. In the meantime, do consult with one of the six of us before you go anywhere outside the Citadel complex.” 

Theli shook his head and protested, “But I have classes that I teach and my rounds at the House of Healing and . . .” 

“You also have that strange human who wants to take you into the city alone whom you must remember to avoid,” Thranduil reminded him firmly. 

“You said just not to go anywhere with Caelion unless I have four armed companions,” Theli pointed out, tilting his head worriedly again. 

Thranduil smiled faintly, “So you do remember. Good.” 

Teliemir cleared his throat then offered amiably, “Thranduil, if Theli gives me his schedule, I can arrange to see that we know where he is.” 

“Thank you, Tel,” Thranduil said with genuine gratitude, “Theli, talk to Teliemir about where you’ll be and when, but in the morning. The rest of you may seek your beds for now, and I thank you for your time.” 

“I will,” Theli agreed. With a repentant smile, he added, “And I’m sorry that the decisions I’ve made have kept you all up late.” 

“Out of all the things you’ve done,” Thranduil said irritably, but with some affection and even tired amusement, “that’s the one you’re sorry for?” 

“Well, that one I know I’m sorry for, at the least,” Theli said with another rueful smile, “I’m also sorry that I didn’t think of all the reasons why it would have been safer and better for all of us if I had trusted you – all of you - enough to tell you about what Mithrandir had asked us to do. I was feeling . . . like I had to handle it myself. Especially after Lord Celeborn wouldn’t listen. . .” 

While glad to hear that Theli had taken this lesson at least somewhat to heart, Thranduil felt the need to correct, “Your Uncle Celeborn, now, Theli. Best get used to it.” 

Theli sighed and then nodded, even though to Thranduil’s eyes he still looked rather uncertain as to Celeborn’s affection. 

“Celeborn cares for you, Theli,” Thranduil patiently reminded him, “Being angry doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care.” 

Theli tilted his head in acknowledgement, but Thranduil wasn’t sure how convinced he truly was. It would be up to Celeborn to persuade Theli that he cared. Thranduil couldn’t do that for them. But he could make sure that Theli realized how the series of errors he’d made, starting with covering up that mutiny, had gotten him into trouble and repeated danger. 

“So,” Thranduil concluded bluntly, “you were feeling cut loose by the disapproval you were getting from Celeborn, and from others, for the treason that you had decided to lie and say that you’d committed.” 

Theli blushed, and meekly countered, “I didn’t say that I didn’t deserve the disapproval. Or that I hadn’t asked for it.” 

“But it did make you more hesitant to trust, Theli,” Thranduil chided, determined to bring this point home. 

“I suppose so,” Theli conceded, seeming surprised, as if he’d just realized that it was so himself, before adding in a pensive tone, “I guess I just wasn’t thinking about it that clearly.” 

“That much, at least, is evident,” Thranduil criticized drolly, “Please do learn from this, and do better in the future.” 

“I will try,” Theli promised earnestly. 

“Good,” accepted Thranduil with a sense of accomplishment, finally content that his point had been taken. 

Rochendil arose from his seat and then laid a hand on Theli’s shoulder. 

“Do your best to keep that promise, Ecthelion,” the general instructed firmly but kindly, “and we will all be well pleased.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Theli agreed with shy but genuine determination. 

“Good,” Rochendil said, patting Theli’s shoulder. 

Then Rochendil went to say farewell and good evening to Thranduil, Linwe, Fileg and Teliemir.

Thranduil stopped Rochendil for a moment to go over staffing for the intelligence briefing Glorfindel had scheduled for the morning. 

“I’m planning to ask Lothgail to accompany us,” Thranduil explained shortly, “Do you want anyone else from the Army other than yourself, Linwe, and Teliemir?” 

“No, my elfling. I believe that will be sufficient. I trust that Legolas and Thalion will be there, representing Ithilien-en-Edhil?” Rochendil questioned. 

“I’ll ask them to bring Baeraeriel as well,” Thranduil resolved, “She can represent Ithilien-en-Edhil’s garrison.” 

“Legolas and Thalion could do that just fine on their own, Thranduil-nin,” Rochendil pointed out with calm good humor, “You’ll already have one of the biggest delegations at the table out of everyone except Gondor itself.” 

“Well, we are the largest elven kingdom,” Thranduil reminded him, “and it will be a good experience for Baeraeriel.” 

“As long as our large number doesn’t upset Aragorn or Celeborn, I don’t mind,” Rochendil said, seeming half-amused and half-disapproving of Thranduil’s continual testing to see how grand of a retinue he could get away with. It was a fun little game that Thranduil had been playing with Celeborn since about the middle of the Third Age. 

But this time it just so happened that Thranduil really did want to give Lothgail and Baeraeriel the extra training. And since he had his general and two senior captains here with him, why not include them? And of course Fileg would attend, because he always attended on Thranduil during such occasions. 

Meanwhile, Theli had said good night and thank you to everyone else. He was now waiting patiently for Thranduil’s attention. 

“Yes?” Thranduil asked. The King was more than willing to let Rochendil be distracted from the matter of Thranduil perhaps planning to overstaff the following day’s meeting by whatever it was that Theli had to say. 

“Thank you, Thranduil. And good night,” Theli said, with a fond and almost profoundly grateful smile. 

“Oh no, my dismissal of everyone else at the table did not extend to you, Theli,” Thranduil informed him briskly, “You’re sleeping here tonight. Whoever is guarding the door can take you back to your chamber to get whatever you need for tonight and tomorrow morning. Including respectable clothing for tomorrow’s briefing.” 

“What?” 

“I think that I was clear enough,” Thranduil said firmly, before turning to ask his gwedyr, “Who is at the door tonight?” 

“Lainon and Serduin,” Fileg supplied, watching the steadfast Thranduil and the speechless Theli with evident sympathy for the latter. 

“Serduin has a better sense of appropriate attire,” Thranduil decided, “Ask him to accompany Theli.” 

“Thranduil, that’s very kind of you to offer,” Theli calmly asserted, “but I’m going back to my own room in the House of Healing to sleep.” 

Theli’s expression remained polite but determined despite Thranduil’s incredulous stare. It wasn’t as if he had been offering Theli an option! Didn’t his cousin realize that? 

“As charmingly novel as your open intransigence is, Theli,” Thranduil scolded, once again choosing to be patiently amused rather than justifiably irritated (or even angered). Still, the King’s tone was inflexible as he continued, “I was giving you a command, not offering you a choice.” 

Theli shook his head, looking overwhelmed yet again. 

Thranduil sighed impatiently, “Are you really going to keep arguing with me about this?” 

“I . . . can we speak in private?” 

“That would probably be for the best, if you’re going to keep being difficult,” Thranduil decided, “Come along then.” 

Thranduil ushered Theli into his private sitting room. As he did so, Thranduil was pleased to note that Linwe no longer seemed worried about leaving his King alone with Theli. That much, at least, had been achieved by Theli’s forced confession. 

“So?” Thranduil asked, once they were alone, “Do you have an argument to give me in favor of your being responsible enough to be left on your own?” 

Theli made a disgusted face at that, but didn’t dispute it. Instead he argued, “Thranduil, you’re like a cat.” 

“A . . . cat.” Thranduil repeated disbelievingly. 

“Right, a cat,” Theli confirmed, as if he was making perfect sense, then continued, “You can’t relax as much as you need to except around certain people. And I’m not one of them. If it would make you feel better to have me watched by someone, I don’t like it but I can’t say that I haven’t earned it. I’m sure that Glorfindel would be willing, or even . . .” 

Thranduil gave Theli points for bravery as the younger elf forced himself to add, “Even Lord Celeborn.” 

“Theli, while that is very . . . odd, yet also thoughtful in its way,” Thranduil replied, touched by how well Theli knew him, yet determined to convince his cousin that, “it just so happens that I do want you here.” 

“No, you don’t,” Theli countered resolutely but affectionately, “you’re just being kind, and I won’t let you do that, not at the expense of your own comfort and happiness.” 

Thranduil could argue with that. Or he could take issue with Theli ‘letting’ him do anything. But it might be easier to just ‘show’ him. 

“Theli, does it hurt you when I Mindspeak to you?” 

“No, it doesn’t, actually,” Theli answered with a surprised and happy smile, “which is nice. Normally everyone’s mind voice hurts my head, except Orophin’s and Elrond’s, but yours doesn’t.” 

“Good,” said Thranduil, reaching out with a gentle hand to touch Theli’s brow. Physical contact enhanced mindspeech and the transmission of emotions. Sharing emotions alone was actually the first thing that Thranduil, and most elves capable of mind speech, had learned to convey. Words were harder. And emotions should be enough, for this. 

Besides, Thranduil had always found it easier to share strong feelings without speaking, even with his friends and kinsmen. And he did hold a great deal of affection in his heart for this newly-revealed cousin. 

“Oh,” Theli said, with a touched and relieved smile, “That’s well enough, then.” 

“I’m so glad that you approve,” Thranduil replied, half-sarcastic and half-bantering. Then he added in a more serious vein, “Theli, I realized when I told Celeborn that I would look after you, that it would mean becoming closer to you. That it would mean expanding my circle of intimates, the people whom I can relax around, to include you. Of course, you have to want that, as well. Am I correct in understanding that you do?” 

“Yes, but I still don’t want to intrude.” 

“You’re not intruding. I want you to be here. And this is the last time tonight that I will be patient in assuring you of that fact, so drop it.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

When Thranduil gave him an irritated look, Theli smiled cheekily and amended that to, “Yes, Cousin.” 

“Good.” 

“But, what about Linwe?” Theli persisted, “Isn’t he your bed-fellow many nights? He’s like an even more private cat.” 

“Linwe will understand,” Thranduil assured Theli. Linwe wouldn’t like it, but Linwe would understand that Thranduil wanted to keep Theli close for now. Particularly given that there was something important that Theli and Elladan weren’t telling anyone, and that it was something which still frightened Theli. 

“If you say so, Thranduil,” Theli replied dubiously. 

“I say so,” Thranduil affirmed, putting a hand on Theli’s shoulder to guide him back out into the main room. Rochendil and Rochirion had departed. Teliemir, Fileg, and Linwe were chatting while they looked over a map of their planned route back to the Greenwood. 

Teliemir got up and excused himself for the evening, after clasping first Thranduil’s arm and then Theli’s. 

The tall captain then pulled Theli into a firm embrace, and whispered something into his ear which Thranduil couldn’t quite hear. 

Fileg arose after Teliemir’s departure, and offered, “Theli, I’ll accompany you to your room and back here again. Unless, of course, you’ve persuaded Thranduil otherwise?” 

It was clear, to Thranduil at least, that Fileg hadn’t even entertained the idea that Thranduil might have changed his mind. He was just teasing Theli. Still, it was a kind offer. If anyone could make the best out of Theli’s wardrobe, it would be Fileg, who had so often been responsible for somehow salvaging Thranduil’s clothing after one adventure or disaster or another. So Thranduil decided to accept the offer on Theli’s behalf. 

“Thank you, Fileg,” Thranduil said, infusing his voice with first gratitude, and then warning as he continued, “But do try not to tease him too much. Theli has enough to deal with right now, without being subjected to your rather bizarre notion of a sense of humor.” 

“I love you too, gwador-laes,” Fileg bantered back, amiably changing the target of his dubious sense of humor to Thranduil himself, which was well enough with Thranduil. He, at least, was accustomed! 

And he was also accustomed to ignoring Fileg’s witticisms when it was the most efficient way to get something done. 

“Just get Theli’s night kit, clothes for tomorrow, and whatever clothes he sleeps in, then come right back here,” Thranduil directed, knowing that while his guards Lainon and Serduin were too professional to let Theli convince them to take one more round of the Healing Hall, or whatever it was that Theli liked to do in his free time, Fileg was not. 

Oh, Fileg probably wouldn’t agree to something like that, since he knew that Thranduil wanted them to come right back. But Theli was very good at showing how earnestly he wanted to do whatever it was that he wanted to do, and Fileg, for all that he might give Theli a hard time, was very susceptible to that kind of sincerity. Fileg’s children and his nephews took terrible advantage of that, at times. And Theli was, in fact, younger than two of those nephews. 

Theli, meanwhile, tilted his head in a quizzical, bemused manner. Then he wondered aloud, “I have never understood why people need clothes to sleep in. Isn’t skin good enough? At least, when you don’t expect to be woken up in the middle of the night to fight, or take care of patients, that is. And those times, why not just sleep in your normal during-the-day clothes, and save yourself some time?” 

Fileg laughed delightedly. 

Thranduil put a hand up to rub at his incipient headache, and added yet another item to his mental list of things he had to make sure that Theli learned. 

“Make sure that he brings clothes to sleep in, Fileg,” Thranduil added. 

Still chuckling, Fileg collected Theli with an arm around his shoulders and the friendly but teasing instruction of, “Come along, elfling.”

“I’m not an elfling, Fileg,” Theli protested, as the two left the room. 

“I give it about a day and a half,” Thranduil ventured, amused, “maybe less, before Theli starts responding to being called ‘elfling’ with something profane and creative.” 

“Less,” Linwe agreed, carefully neutral. Far more careful and controlled than he would normally ever be around Thranduil, curse it all. 

Thranduil sighed, “I’m sorry, Linwe. I should have told you about Theli lying about having committed treason to cover up the mutiny, when I first find out about it.” 

Linwe didn’t look away from Thranduil, which would have been worse. But the hurt in his jade green eyes was bad enough. 

“They were all my elves, Thranduil,” Linwe reminded him tightly, “Just because they were under Theli’s detached command, didn’t make them not my soldiers anymore. And they all lied. Not just to you and Rochendil, but to me, too.” 

“That’s the danger with long-standing detached commands, Lin,” Thranduil said as gently as he could, “Theli and the elven soldiers in his detached command functioned mostly on their own for decades. We leave our toughest and our most consistently victorious companies, like yours, more or less alone in terms of staffing for long periods of time, because we believe that those strong bonds of loyalty help them to fight more fiercely, and to comfort each other more successfully when they take losses. In the case of Theli and his – and your – elves, they fought beside humans for almost a century. Three or even four different generations of Men. I know what that’s like, having been Elendur’s dear friend, and then his baby brother Valandil’s, and so many of his sons’ and grandsons’ friend in turn. You become more protective of your friend’s grandson even than you were of your first friend. What wouldn’t I do, for one of them? What wouldn’t you do, for one of my sons?” 

Linwe crossed his arms and sighed at that, which was at least progress. 

Then he came and embraced Thranduil tightly, saying quietly into Thranduil’s ear, “You know that I would do anything for you, Thranduil. And for your children. Don’t ever doubt that.” 

Thranduil returned the embrace, relieved in part because he knew that it meant that Linwe understood the decisions that his soldiers had made, as much as he could. And therefore, that Linwe also understood Thranduil’s decision, which had been made, most of all, to protect Legolas. 

And to protect Linwe too, in part, because, in being Legolas’ captain, Linwe would have had to have chosen whether to prosecute his oath-brother’s youngest son for mutiny, or whether to betray the vows he’d sworn as a warrior and an officer in Thranduil’s army by continuing to cover up the matter. Now, with Thranduil having ordered Linwe to leave it be, he spared his friend the agony of that decision. But this was still a big misjudgment for Linwe to forgive, on Thranduil’s part as well as on Theli’s. Thranduil knew that, and he appreciated his older blood-brother’s willingness to understand, and to begin to forgive. 

“Thank you, Lin.” 

“You’re welcome,” said Linwe, stepping back and then favoring Thrandui with what was, for him, an amused yet somehow still critical look, as he said sternly, “Just don’t expect me to elfling-mind your new cousin.”

That made Thranduil laugh, even as Linwe continued, “I’m mostly serious about that. You, and Fileg, and your families, are more than enough trouble for me to keep up with when I’m not commanding my unit in the field. Theli is much worse. And most often he doesn’t stop talking and asking questions the entire time that he’s causing trouble and upsetting the status quo. Or even after. It’s when he is quiet that you have to really worry, which is also true of all of your elflings, and several of your cousins, and should have given me a clue, curse it all.” 

Not wanting Linwe to go back to blaming himself, or blaming Theli, Thranduil redirected, “Thank you for the insight. I won’t ask you to elfling-mind. He’s not really an elfling in any case, but I understand what you mean. I may still ask for your help sometimes, in other ways. For instance, I’d like to get Theli to wear warrior braids again, but he’s refused me.” 

Linwe frowned, “Because of the treason? He failed as an officer, not a warrior. You didn’t expel him from the army dishonorably. And even if you had, he was allowed to reenlist, over my own objections at the time. And he served honorably again, albeit without rank. In fact, now that I know about the . . . ‘faux treason,’ I respect Ecthelion for having diligently served as the lowliest of soldier after having previously held high rank. He has even fought bravely after his voluntary resignation from the Army, at Dol Guldur, and during several skirmishes. So why on Arda wouldn’t he feel entitled to a warrior’s trappings?” 

It was here that Thranduil cheerfully threw Theli under the carriage, “Theli left the army voluntarily because he was having trouble with battle-sickness, and he thought that his fellow soldiers wouldn’t be able to rely on him as they should because he got lost in his own head sometimes. He seems to think that disqualifies him from being a warrior at all, except in times of greatest need.” Thranduil wasn’t absolutely certain of that, but it was his best guess. And it made for a good distraction. 

Linwe stared back at Thranduil for a moment, seeming both surprised and displeased, before criticizing, “He’s a healer. He’s trained as a mind healer. According to an even dozen of my other soldiers, he’s a GOOD mind healer. He should by-the-Belain know better than that.” 

“You know healers. They’re the worst patients.” 

Linwe smiled faintly, “No, gwador-laes. That’s you.” 

Thranduil groaned. Unwilling to let that taunt go without some form of retribution, he reached into the fruit bowl on the sideboard to find a grape, then threw it at his gwador. 

Linwe caught the grape easily and tossed it back, “Your new cousin Theli says that you may be his worst patient ever, as does Nestorion. I think that even Elrond said so, once or twice.” 

“To be fair, cousin Elrond only said that I was his worst patient BEFORE he had children of his own,” Thranduil pointed out. 

Linwe chuckled, “So, you’re saying that you’re more sensible about your health than Elladan Elrondion? And you’re proud of that, are you?” 

“Shut it, Linwe.” 

That got Thranduil another faint smile, this one also at Thranduil’s expense, but at least Linwe seemed in a much better humor. 

“Help me change out of this tunic?” Thrandui requested, “it’s hard to reach the buttons in the middle of my back.” 

“Fine.” 

Thranduil began to disrobe with Linwe’s help. Although, once again, Thranduil missed Fileg, because his cousin was just better at aiding Thranduil to get in and out of formal garb than their older oath-brother was. Which made sense, since Fileg, as a royal lord himself, had to deal with complicated clothing of his own. Whereas Linwe generally got away with his uniform, or at least with clothing he could put on and off by himself. 

When they had together vanquished Thranduil’s ‘king clothes,’ Linwe prepared a bath in the large bathing chamber in Thranduil’s suite of rooms. Thranduil undid his warrior’s braids and put the jeweled beads adorning them back into his jewelry and regalia casket, while waiting for the large bath to fill. 

If Thranduil had been in a greater hurry to wash, the bathing chamber also boasted a ‘shower’ in the corner of the room adjacent to the bath tub. Steps beside the frosted glass windows led up to the shower door. The shower cubicle had a marble ‘lip’ on the floor around the square edges of the cubicle, except for one small ‘gutter’ that flowed down into the wide marble bathtub and then out the drain at the base of the bathtub. The shower itself was a smaller version of the communal showers that Thranduil’s North Hall in the Greenwood had in its military barracks and Healers’ and Alchemists’ common bathing chambers. There, the high-pressured flow of water worked well for cleaning off mud and worse substances. 

Here, in Minas Tirith, Thranduil found the ‘shower’ useful for when he had to quickly change after arms practice and before a meeting or lunch. Otherwise, he much preferred the civilized decadence of the small-pond sized sunken marble bathtub, which had seats on the near end, and a deeper section on the far side, the end closest to the drain down from the shower. 

“Thank you Lin,” Thranduil said as he finished taking off his clothes and slipped into the water, “join me?” 

Linwe considered that for a moment, then nodded. He disappeared to change out of his uniform and undo his own braids while Thranduil submerged himself then started washing his hair. 

When Linwe rejoined him, Thranduil considerd splashing his gwador in the face, just on general, but then decided against it because he was too tired for the wrestling match/splashing fight which would inevitably ensue from that provocation. Neither Thranduil nor Linwe liked to lose, even at little things. 

Once they were clean and re-clothed, the two elves went back to the common room of the guest apartment. Linwe wore a linen sleep tunic and green off-duty uniform leggings. Thranduil luxuriated in the relative comfort of a loose dark green silk night tunic, silk small clothes, and loose leggings of soft iridescent gray linen, secured with a drawstring at the waist. While still fine, Thranduil’s sleeping clothes made for a very comfortable contrast to his ‘king clothes!’

Normally Thranduil would have curled up on the settee in his private sitting room, or the window seat, in order to keep reading the cursed unending flow of parchment which constantly deluged him as King. But since Fileg wasn’t back with Theli yet, Thranduil went to the common room to read some of his correspondence while waiting for them. Linwe followed, sitting at the opposite end of the settee and picking up the same borrowed military strategy book he had been reading earlier. 

Thranduil looked up from his letters and watched Linwe on the far end of the settee, considering how tolerant a mood his older oathbrother was in. Determining that Linwe seemed pretty much normal, Linwe-mood-wise, Thranduil lifted up his just-washed bare feet and stretched his legs out along the length of the settee, with his feet ending up in Linwe’s lap. It was more comfortable this way, and if Linwe was in a tolerant mood, he’d put up with it. 

Linwe lifted an eyebrow, but he didn’t even glance at Thranduil as he adjusted Thranduil’s feet more comfortably on his lap before returning his attention entirely back to his book. Thranduil couldn’t speak as clearly mind-to-mind with his gwedyr as he could with older elves, but he could still send emotions and very general warnings of danger. So Thranduil sent a burst of gratitude and affection over the emotional and mental bond he shared with his older blood-brother. 

In response, Linwe returned the affection with reassurance as well as his own affection, and patted Thranduil’s nearer foot, still without taking his attention away from his book. Thranduil made a mental note to move that particular military history volume higher up on his list of things to read, and then turned back to Chief Advisor Herdir’s and Army Elder Dirnaith’s plans for military re-supplies over the summer. 

After perhaps ten minutes or so of comfortable silence, Linwe put down his book. Then he turned his attention to the curious Thranduil with a serious expression. Thranduil straightened up and started to move his feet, but Linwe shook his head. 

“No,” the red-haired ellon assured the King, “You’re fine as you are, gwador-laes. I’m not angry with you did anymore. I do want you to know that when I told you not to ask me to elfling-mind with Theli, I didn’t mean that I don’t support you, in this. Yes, I often find Theli exhausting. But he’s a good elf to have at your back. I never would have had him in my unit more than just the once if he hadn’t been. And he’s better than just reliable. He has . . . a way of making all of my soldiers hold on longer, do more than they ever expected that they could do, just because Theli believes whole-heartedly in them, and never gives up. I couldn’t have trusted him again if he had actually done what he’d claimed to have done. That was unforgivable. But what he actually did . . . well, not trusting us was more a serious error in judgement, rather than an unforgivable one.” 

“It was,” Thranduil couldn’t help but agree, “As was this nonsense with Mithrandir and the others.” 

Linwe tilted his head in agreement, “Yes. But neither of those failures of judgment were unforgivable. They were failures. But . . . Ecthelion was a good officer, once. Failures of trust . . . that we can work with. You’ve already made a good start on that, with him. If he lets us help him, I think that he could be a good military leader again, someday. Which I do think would be worthwhile. In our company’s officer meetings, Ecthelion wasn’t usually the smartest elf in the room. But he did have a way of looking at a situation that somehow managed to clarify it for whoever were the smartest elves in the room.” 

“He does that for me, too,” Thranduil agreed, both pleased and touched that he wouldn’t have to fight Linwe over bringing Theli further ‘into the family,’ so to speak. Thranduil also remembered that when he had first started inviting Theli to high level meetings after the end of the Watchful Peace, Linwe had been one of the elves who had quietly supported his King, while many other elves – including General Rochendil and Thranduil’s aunt, uncle, and several older cousins – had been skeptical. After Thranduil had learned the truth about the ‘faux-treason,’ as Linwe had evidently decided to call it, the King had resumed issuing firm invitations to the younger healer to attend important meetings. At the time, Linwe had vocally disapproved, even though Rochendil, who had already known the truth as of then, had seconded Thranduil’s decision. But now . . . it seemed that this might be a battle that Thranduil didn’t have to fight with his older gwador anymore. 

“I’ve noticed that he does much the same thing for you in council meetings,” Linwe agreed with a faint smile, before turning serious again, “I don’t know what challenges we’ll face in the future, Thranduil. But whatever they may be, knowing what I know now, I trust Theli to have your back.” 

“Thank you, Linwe,” Thranduil said quietly but sincerely. 

Linwe nodded, then frowned, “It’s taking Theli and Fileg a long time to get back here, even with them coming from the Healing Hall. You don’t think that Theli would have convinced Fileg to let him go check on his patients, do you?” 

“He better not have,” Thranduil deplored, “If he has, then I’ll have Fileg going to visit tailors with Theli under Luthavar’s direction.” 

“Cruel, gwador-laes,” Linwe commented, with a there-and-gone-again grin. 

“I told him to come straight back,” Thranduil justified. 

“Mmm,” said Linwe noncommittally, as he returned his attention to his book.


	24. Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fileg and Theli explain their unexpectedly dangerous errand. Thranduil and Theli consider what the future might mean for their present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: The term ‘bedfellows,’ as it is used in this chapter means simply “one who shares a bed with another,” and has no romantic implications. In the medieval sense of the term “bedfellow,” it referred often to persons of the same gender and similar status sharing a bed, just to sleep in. The term is used in Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado About Nothing,’ to say that Hero and Beatrice hadn’t shared a bed the night before Hero’s wedding (when the alleged adultery was said to have occurred), but that Hero and Beatrice had been bedfellows every night otherwise for the past year (such that if Hero had ever been unchaste before, Beatrice would have known about it, so she’s asserting her friend Hero’s customary chastity.) 
> 
> A/N 2: More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 3: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, Thranduil’s friend Linwe, General Rochendil, and Master Rochirion belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please read all warnings. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 4: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes chapter 24: 
> 
> “’But it does not seem that I can trust anyone,' said Frodo.
> 
> Sam looked at him unhappily. 
> 
> 'It all depends on what you want,' put in Merry. 'You can trust us to stick with you through thick and thin--to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours--closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo.’” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 23 excerpt: 
> 
> “It’s taking Theli and Fileg a long time to get back here, even with them coming from the Healing Hall. You don’t think that Theli would have convinced Fileg to let him go check on his patients, do you?”
> 
> “He better not have,” Thranduil deplored, “If he has, then I’ll have Fileg going to visit tailors with Theli under Luthavar’s direction.”
> 
> “Cruel, gwador-laes,” Linwe commented, with a there-and-gone-again grin.
> 
> “I told him to come straight back,” Thranduil justified.
> 
> “Mmm,” said Linwe noncommittally, as he returned his attention to his book.

Fileg and Theli returned just before Thranduil decided to send one of his on-duty royal guards to search out his absent cousins. 

Fileg had hung-up clothing secured over one arm, wrapped in a bed sheet to keep it from wrinkling or picking up dirt. He carried a saddle bag over his other shoulder. Unusually for Thranduil’s light-hearted cousin, Fileg seemed angry, and even worried. Although his bad temper did not seem to be aimed at Theli, whom Fileg was ushering in ahead of him. 

Theli carried only a large healer’s satchel. Thranduil recognized it as the bag that the younger elf usually brought with him on day trips. 

“Problem, Fileg gwador-dithen-nin?” Linwe inquired laconically, although it was clear that he was intent on getting an answer from Fileg. 

“That idiotic ass of a human Caelion was waiting for us in Theli’s chambers,” Fileg said irefully, “He had picked the lock – badly – and then he went to grab Theli when we entered the room!” 

“Alone?” Linwe asked disapprovingly. 

Thranduil had to agree with that criticism. If Fileg and Theli had been able to tell that the lock had been tampered with, then they should have gone for more support before opening the door. 

“No, Linwe, I’m not an idiot, thank you very much,” Fileg denied scornfully, “We went to get two guards from the House of Healing. One of them opened the door while I, and the other guard, stood in front, weapons drawn.” 

“And I stood behind them,” said Theli wearily, “Because Fileg told me to. And because I was too tired to argue about it.” 

“Good,” said Thranduil and Linwe at the same time. Theli sighed, while Thranduil and Linwe turned their attention back to Fileg. 

“How did this Caelion get through you and the guards to get at my other cousin here?” Thranduil queried sympathetically, because he was sure, particularly after the night’s many startling revelations, that Fileg would have been doing his best to protect Theli. And Fileg’s best as a bodyguard was very good indeed, as Thranduil unhappily knew from personal experience. 

“Because neither of us actually wanted to kill or maim the stupid Man,” Fileg explained, seeming disgusted with himself, “Caelion dove past us so fast that neither of us had a chance to get in a non-lethal blow. He’s either a complete fool, or someone very competent and cunning pretending to be a complete fool. And I don’t like that I can’t tell which it is.” 

“Caelion didn’t feel dangerous,” Theli interjected soothingly, “Just very worried and anxious. And he might not be lying. He may just be very concerned for his poor sick father.” 

“So concerned that he picked your lock and hid in your sleeping chamber?” Fileg inquired incredulously. 

Theli shrugged, “People whose family members are sick can do really irrational things. I once had . . . oh, never mind. I can’t tell which he is, either.” 

“At least you were being careful, Theli,” Fileg allowed with some pride, “And once Caelion got a grip on your upper arm, you used that contact as a pivot point to bang his head against your knee and then bring him down quite neatly.” 

“Thank you . . .” Theli began uncertainly, only to be cut off Fileg. 

“But it was cursed stupid of you to have let him make contact in the first place,” Fileg lectured, “If I’d known that you were going to do a foolish thing like that, I would have just seriously injured him and risked maiming him. Why didn’t you dodge, or get behind me again? You proved that you could have moved quickly enough to do so.” 

Theli shrugged again, “I wanted Caelion down and out of it enough that we could search him and question him before he could run off. Or stick me or someone else with his belt knife. But in Gondor, if you hit someone first, the law looks at it like YOU assaulted THEM. You have to go through presenting an entire defense of feeling threatened, and I didn’t want to have it be unclear as to who started it.” 

“So you let the crazy man grab you,” Fileg scolded. 

“Don’t do that again, Theli,” Thranduil reproved, “I’ll handle the legal and diplomatic questions, or more likely Lothgail will. She’s very good at that. In any case, if anything like this happens again, you just take down your possible assailant without making any more physical contact than necessary.” 

Theli sighed and then nodded. 

“Thranduil is serious, elfling,” Fileg interjected with unaccustomed severity, “You need to give him a real answer.” 

This time Theli didn’t even bother to protest being referred to as an elfling, which Thranduil thought was wise of him, given the circumstances. 

Instead he nodded again to Fileg, then turned back to Thranduil, and said earnestly, “Yes. I understand. I’ll hit him before he can grab me next time.” 

“Thank you,” said Thranduil, rather relieved that he’d gotten through to Theli on that point, even if he had needed Fileg’s help to do so. 

“After Theli got the lunatic down on the floor with a knee in his back,” Fileg continued his account, “the guards took over. However, they almost bought Caelion’s nonsensical excuse that he ‘just wanted to see Theli because he’s the only healer my father will trust enough to see.’” 

“It is nonsense,” Theli concurred frustratedly, “I don’t have a reputation in Gondor, not like I do in the elven settlements as a good surgeon and somewhat of an expert on human diseases. I don’t know how Caelion’s father even heard of me enough to want to see me as a healer. It would make more sense if he had wanted just an elven healer as opposed to a human healer, although that would still be unusual.” 

“Fortunately, the Warden of the House of Healing – Del, that’s his name, isn’t it?” Fileg asked Theli. 

“Yes. Warden Del.” 

“Odd name, isn’t it? Even for a human?” 

“He was rescued from slavery by one of Prince Adrahil’s anti-piracy patrols when he was still an adolescent. He didn’t know his real name, but he’d called himself Del for long enough that he wanted to stick with it,” Theli elucidated. 

“Well, anyway, HE’s not an idiot, Warden Del isn’t,” Fileg clarified for Thranduil and Linwe, “He came when he heard the disturbance, and ordered the guards to search Caelion for weapons before I had time to insist on it. Caelion had nothing on him but a belt-knife, but it was a middling sized one, and had some kind of sticky substance on it.” 

“Poison?” Thranduil asked in concern. 

“If it is, Warden Del didn’t recognize it. He seized the knife, though, and wrapped it in a silk handkerchief so that some of his healers could further analyze the substance on the knife.” 

“Caelion said that it was venison fat,” Theli said dubiously, “But it smelled like cactus flower oil to me.” 

“Which you told Warden Del, but he couldn’t agree or disagree because he’d never smelled cactus flower oil before,” Fileg recalled. 

“Is cactus-flower oil a poison?” Thranduil queried, still unsettled. 

“No,” Theli answered reassuringly, “Just a really strong sedative. Sleep-of-the-dead type sedative, but provided that you don’t drink a whole wineskin full of it, or something insane like that, you’ll wake up fine. You’ll just have lost a few days.” 

“And this doesn’t worry you?” Fileg inquired disbelievingly of Theli. 

“Of course it’s concerning,” Theli countered, “But what am I supposed to do about it? Warden Del sent Healer Gaelor himself, along with Healer Belegur of Lorien, and four guards, to go check on Caelion’s father. As well as putting the First Level City Guard on the alert, in case anything goes wrong. Healer Gaelor and Healer Belegur are both great. And Warden Del said that if Caelion’s father isn’t gravely ill, then he’ll be having the Citadel Guard arrest Caelion for breaking into a healer’s residence, and for assaulting a healer, a guest of the King, and two Healing House guards.”

Fileg smiled a bit, “What Healer Belegur was doing near Theli’s rooms was pretty obvious. He wants to have a few words with our wandering healer about his adventures in foreign lands. I told Belegur that I sympathized,” Fileg informed Thranduil. 

Thranduil nodded in approval to that, while Theli rolled his eyes. 

Fileg swatted Theli’s right shoulder lightly for the disrespectful gesture, then ordered, “Get Thranduil or Linwe to put some bruise balm on your arm. I’m going to put your clothes away so that they don’t wrinkle.” 

“I can do that,” Thranduil offered. 

Fileg grinned back at him over his shoulder as he walked away in the direction of Thranduil’s private rooms, “It’s sweet that you think you can, gwador-laes. But you really don’t do it right. I let you do it sometimes to humor you, but in truth, you’re a danger to your own fine clothing. Theli has very few garments suitable to an eminent healer, let alone a lord, so I don’t really want to let you ‘help’ him.” 

“Thank you, Fileg,” Thranduil and Theli said at almost the same time, in almost the same sarcastic tone. Then they looked at one another in surprise. 

Linwe, who had already put down his book, sighed at all three of the royal cousins. 

“Theli,” Linwe then commanded, “Give me the bruise balm. And take your tunic and shirt off.” 

Theli automatically fished the small pouch of what was presumably bruise balm out of his belt pouch, and was about to hand it to Linwe, when he finally realized who was asking. Then Theli blushed and said shyly, “You don’t have to, Captain Linwe.” 

“I don’t mind,” Linwe said with more patience than he usually had for Theli, as he took the pouch from Theli’s hand, “So strip and let me get to it.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Theli agreed. 

While Thranduil thought that it might be a pity that Linwe didn’t want to elfling-mind, since Theli seemed to listen to Linwe well, Theli obediently took off his forest-green tunic and white linen shirt. 

Then Thranduil was distracted by the deep red handprint coming out on Theli’s upper left arm. Fileg was right; that was going to bruise up fantastically. Thranduil suppressed a surge of anger on Theli’s behalf. 

If Linwe also felt angry, he managed to hide it well. He had unscrewed the metal lid on the top of the pouch while Theli disrobed. Then he took Theli’s left elbow in one hand to hold his arm still, and gently rubbed the balm into and around the red handprint.

Fileg returned from Thranduil’s bedchamber just as Linwe was finishing up. 

“No point putting your shirt and tunic back on,” Fileg kindly advised Theli, “Go and change into the sleep clothes I helped you pick out. But go behind the changing screen, or into the bathing chamber, to take the rest of your clothing off, and stay there while you put your new clothing on. Or at least until you’re wearing the new small clothes and leggings.” 

Thranduil admired how Fileg had made that guidance seem like no large matter, as if it was something that any noble lord might not know. 

Theli looked to Thranduil questioningly. Thranduil nodded to affirm Fileg’s directions, then waved in the direction of his private rooms. 

After Theli had left the room, Thranduil nodded his thanks to Fileg. 

Fileg smiled back at him, albeit wearily, “It’s no great matter, Thranduil. I’ve always liked him. Ever since he made us smile during the War of the Last Alliance, and then took such pains to dress well for my and Calmarille’s wedding. He was one of Calmarille’s only Greenwood friends, and she wanted him to stand witness on her side.”

“Nevertheless, thank you,” Thranduil repeated, “I may ask you to elfling-mind in the future,” he added, with a grin for Linwe. 

Fileg laughed, “Me, but not Lin? I’m fine with that. Now, do you two need me to elfling-mind anymore tonight? Or may I go join my lovely wife?” 

“Go to Calmarille,” Thranduil encouraged, “And thank her for letting me borrow you so frequently.” 

“She doesn’t mind,” Fileg assured Thranduil, with a soft, fond look in his azure eyes, “She told me that she already knew that you were part of a package deal, when she asked me if I still wanted to court her, before we even left Mordor.” 

“You never told me that,” Thranduil said wonderingly, before asking Linwe, “Did you know that?” 

Linwe shook his head. 

“I only told Aiwen,” Fileg explained, speaking of his lost twin, “And only her because she was friends with Calmarille, and would understand how funny it was that Calmarille finally invited me to start courting her like she was offering me a business deal, complete with caveats and stipulations. From me, she asked that I promise to never dye her mother’s little dog purple again.” 

Thranduil chuckled, “We were so young then. I can’t even recall why we ever decided to do that, anyway.” 

“Because I was trying to get Calmarille to notice me,” Fileg reminded Thranduil, his azure eyes twinkling, “Which half-worked, at least, even though Calmarille told me very firmly that, while she considered me a good candidate for her friendship, I was ‘not serious enough’ to be potential husband material.” 

“What happened to change that?” 

Fileg smiled sadly, “The War. Calmarille decided that being serious was overrated, as long as I could be serious when I had to be, which she seemed sure of, by then.” 

“You’re good at being serious when you have to be,” Thranduil agreed affectionately. “Now go to your wife. We’ll be fine without you.” 

Fileg gave Thranduil a cheery salute, and Linwe a mocking wave, and then left them. 

After Fileg’s departure, Thranduil and Linwe, by mutual but silent agreement, left the common room of the guest apartments to read on the settee in Thranduil’s private sitting room. Thranduil answered the letter from his chief advisor and heart-father Herdir, replying that Thranduil had no idea why the elven lords and village elders in the north of the forest had been insulted by an offer of potatoes to supplement their poor harvest of the previous autumn. 

“If you were a lord in the north of the Wood,” Thranduil said, mostly rhetorically, to Linwe, “Why would you be insulted by someone offering you potatoes?” 

“No idea.” 

“Me, either. It does ring a distant bell though, now that I’ve just finished writing a rather snarky reply about it.” 

Linwe moved his book to one hand, and then used the other to snatch the letter that Thranduil had just finished writing away from his king. He balled it up, and and then tossed it neatly into the fire. 

“Why?” Thranduil asked, more bemused than angry, because he probably would have re-written that letter anyway. 

“I’m saving you from yourself,” Linwe explained with a faint smile, “Or rather, your ears from Herdir’s idealistic belief that he can turn you into a monarch who writes gracious, well-considered letters.” 

“So kind of you,” Thranduil bantered back, but he did have to admit that Linwe had a point. Thranduil did not generally enjoy writing letters, and, as Herdir had pointed out many times, Thranduil’s customary sarcasm did not translate particularly well into writing. 

Thranduil put the letter aside, thinking that he should ask Lothgail, Thalion, Legolas, and Fileg to read it, tomorrow. Perhaps one of them would remember what potatoes had done to insult the north. Maybe Thranduil should even make Theli read the letter? It might be a good way to see how much trouble his cousin had with reading normal kingdom correspondence. And sometimes Theli remembered odd things which simply didn’t stick in Thranduil’s mind. 

Deciding that he would accomplish nothing else of worth tonight, Thranduil took his correspondence, put it back in its leather binder, and then returned the binder to the specially knotted messenger bag it had come in. If an elf didn’t know how to untie the knot in a certain way, acid would be released from the inside of the clasp of the bag. That would ruin the messages within and make them unreadable, which was a wise security measure. It had also prompted Thranduil to ‘accidentally’ ruin several bags of correspondence when he had been a young King. Herdir had been disappointed, but he had remarked philosophically that at least Thranduil would have some more time to recover his patience before he wrote replies to that particular lot of petitions. 

Thranduil stood up and stretched, mentally as well as physically consigning the problems of the rest of his ‘king work’ until tomorrow. Or possibly later. Or possibly to Lothgail. 

Thranduil turned to Linwe before he left the sitting room for his bed chamber, “Coming, gwador iaur?” Thranduil asked, trying to make it clear from his tone and facial expression that either answer would be acceptable, even though he wanted Linwe to say ‘yes.’ 

Thranduil continued in the same light manner, “It’s fine with me if you’d rather sleep in your own room in the visiting officer barracks in the Citadel proper.” 

Thranduil’s blue velvet curtained bed could easily sleep five. Even with Theli joining them at Thranduil’s request, there was still plenty of room for Linwe to have his own space. Which thought gave Thranduil a moment of amusement, although he decided that he would wait a few days at least before sharing Theli’s description of Thranduil as a ‘cat who needs his own space’ and Linwe as ‘an even more private cat.’ 

Thranduil’s and Linwe’s relationship was brotherly, and in no way romantic. Which Thranduil had been surprised to have to explain to Men of Numenor, during the War of the Last Alliance. Before Thranduil had been married, often one of his gwedyr – Linwe, Fileg, and Veassen, before he died – had shared his bed. Or had slept beside him in cots in the royal tent, if Thranduil’s father Oropher hadn’t been expected back from a meeting in a different camp before morning. 

Thranduil had never been romantically inclined towards males at all. Once he’d fallen in love with Minaethiel, he’d never looked at another elleth with desire, either. But being the King was lonely, and being a widower was lonelier still. Thranduil did not care for being alone when he slept. At least not most of the time. 

Fileg normally slept with his wife, but Linwe often slept with Thranduil when he was on leave from the Army, or when he was stationed at the North Hall as part of one of the Home Companies. Sometimes, a trusted friend like Teliemir, Thranduil’s older cousin Gelinnas, or one of his heart-fathers would also share Thranduil’s bed, if they had been in the royal apartment late working or having a game of cards or Kingdoms with Thranduil. Or if Thranduil anticipated a sleepless or nightmare ridden night. For instance, the King had never slept alone on the anniversaries of his father’s death, his wife’s death, or his three lost children’s begetting days. Or even Legolas’ begetting day the year that Legolas had been on the Quest with Aragorn and the others. 

Thranduil didn’t anticipate having a bad night tonight. But he still wanted Linwe’s company. Although he didn’t want to pressure him, in case Linwe wasn’t ready to be so near to Theli in his sleep. 

Linwe considered the question for a moment, before answering with quiet confidence, “I’ll stay. But I’ll read for a while longer. Put the elfling to bed first.” 

Thranduil smiled and chuckled a little, “You know, if you and Fileg keep calling him that, he’s going to think of very creative things to say back to you.” 

Linwe raised a brow, “I know how to keep Theli in line,” he informed Thranduil. Then with a faint smile, he added, “and Fileg deserves whatever he gets.” 

“Isn’t that the truth,” Thranduil had to concur, “Good night, Lin.” 

“Good night gwador-laes,” Linwe said with another faint smile, before returning his attention to his book. 

Thranduil made a detour to the common room to go get a mug of spiced orange tea for Linwe, and another for Theli. 

Linwe accepted his with a murmur of gratitude, and then Thranduil went into his bed chamber. There he found Theli seated at the window seat looking up at the stars, dressed in loose-fitting light blue cotton leggings and a cream-colored linen sleeping tunic. Theli’s shoulder-length ash blond hair was damp from bathing, and when wet it curled more than its usual wont. 

“Tired?” Thranduil asked Theli, to ease over the awkwardness. And it was awkward, and it would be awkward for a time, until they both grew accustomed to being more intimate companions to one another. Just because it was awkward was no reason not to walk this path. Thranduil had seen in his visions the reward in the future, when he had shared with the healer and newly revealed royal lord a deep, trusting, and intimate friendship. 

“Very tired,” answered Theli with a rueful smile, “It’s been a really long day. Thank you for the tea though. I like orange tea.” 

“I wasn’t sure of that,” Thranduil confessed, “But I remember that you like oranges and orange juice and sparkling wine with orange accents. So I thought it a safe enough guess. Besides it was probably due; you’ve brought me teas that I like often enough, as one of my healers.” 

“Yes, but I didn’t have to guess what you liked. Master Nestorion and Galad and Landiauril told me, before I started attending on you as a junior royal healer.” 

To Thranduil, Theli looked calm enough, but still unsettled. Even unsure as to his place in the world, with so much changing around him. It made Thranduil wistfully miss the gently confident smile and wise manner of future-Theli. 

In both their first and second visions of earlier this evening, Theli’s attitude, the very way he stood and the manner in which he held himself, had been those of a peredhel who was confident of his place in the world, and sure of being well loved by many. Thranduil very much wanted to help his Theli successfully transition into becoming that more-confident future Theli. 

Even as Thranduil thought about that, he realized that having Theli in his bed chamber was not as awkward as it should have been. On one level, yes, Thranduil saw Theli mostly as he’d always seen him, plus knowing that the resonance between them was in part due to their being kinsmen. But mistily laid over how off-putting it was to have one of his younger healers and friends in Thranduil’s personal space outside of Theli’s duties or friendly lunches or dinners, was the way that Thranduil’s future self had felt about future-Theli. 

It had been a feeling of deep trust and fondness, but not one exactly like any bond Thranduil had ever shared with anyone else before. It had not been a bond like the deep, intimate, and almost all-encompassing bond which Thranduil had shared with his wife. Nor had it been similar to the bonds of affection that Thranduil had formed with the the blood-brothers with whom Thranduil felt he could share almost everything. 

It hadn’t been like the bonds between Thranduil and his children. In the visions of the future, he hadn’t felt so profoundly loving or protective of Theli as he did of his children. And yet, at some level, future-Thranduil had felt very protective of future-Theli, and had trusted him enough to share more of his worries with him than Thranduil did with his own children, even Thalion. Their bond hadn’t been like those Thranduil shared with his younger cousins, not even Mychanar and Lothgail whom Thranduil trusted almost implicitly to handle affairs of the Kingdom for him, or Elrohir, whose company and confidence Thranduil truly enjoyed. 

The bond between future-Thranduil and future-Theli hadn’t been like the bonds Thranduil had shared with Celebrian and Elrond. But it was somehow very similar, just perhaps a mirror opposite. On some level, Thranduil had felt himself the protector and mentor of future-Theli, even while on another level he had trusted Theli to do his part, and had also trusted Theli almost entirely with Legolas’ safety and happiness. 

Thranduil decided not to worry about the matter. The bond that he and Theli had shared in the future was worth working for. That was probably all that mattered. 

Theli had returned to looking out the window up at the stars and Mount Mindolluin while Thranduil’s thoughts wandered. The keyhole neckline of Theli’s tunic revealed the leather thong necklace he wore around his neck, even though it was still mostly hidden under his tunic. 

“May I?” Thranduil asked, waiting to get Theli’s attention and then gesturing to the exposed bit of the leather necklace. 

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Here,” Theli took the thong necklace off of his neck, and handed it to Thranduil. 

There were two totems, now, Thranduil observed. The bloodstone willow tree still had pride of place, tied as it was such that it rested directly over Theli’s heart. Warm from contact with Theli’s skin, the bloodstone incongruously seemed to chill Thranduil’s finger tips in a pleasant fashion when he touched it, as if he had just dipped his fingers into a cool creek singing pleasantly through the peaceful green forest. 

The other small stone totem, tied separately so that it wouldn’t clink against the bloodstone, was carved in the shape of a multifaceted torch, with waving flames on top. Thranduil turned on a cut-glass mosaic gas lamp on the small breakfast table near the window seat so that he could see the torch more clearly. 

“Good workmanship,” the King observed absently, “is it carved from lapis lazuli?” 

“Yes,” Theli confirmed, watching curiously as Thranduil examined his totems, and then explaining, “Prince Adrahil and cousin Orophin gave it to me. The torch is a Dol Amroth symbol for a seeker of wisdom.” 

“And the lapis lazuli?” 

Theli shook his head with a bemused smile, “Adrahil picked it because he thought the dark blue stone would look well with my eyes. Orophin approved of Adrahil’s selection, because lapis lazuli helps one to make a transition between the real world and the spirit world, and Orophin was trying to teach me to guard my mind, and to communicate with him at a distance.” 

“Did it work?” 

“It helped some,” Theli admitted, “Holding the bloodstone in one hand and the lapis in the other worked best.” 

Thranduil turned his attention back to the bloodstone tree, “You’ve had this for a long time, as I recall. And yet it feels as if it has been recently and strongly blessed.” 

With a sweet, almost marveling half-smile, Theli explained, “Master Nestorion borrows it back, from time to time. He says it’s because I let the leather strap get too worn. He does replace the thong necklace with a new one, soft and sturdy again. But he also asks the priests and priestesses at the Temple and the other master healers to re-bless it. He re-blesses it himself more often, almost once a year.” 

Thranduil smiled back, amused and touched, “Yes. Between the lot of them, Nestorion, Rochendil, and my aunt and uncle do the same with my locket.” Thranduil took off his blue rainbow moonstone locket and gave it to Theli to examine. 

“It feels special and safe,” Theli complimented him, “and . . . and like it makes things seem . . . I don’t know, clearer. Less confusing.” 

“Yes, that is what blue rainbow moonstone is supposed to do,” Thranduil confided as Theli handed his locket back to him. 

Thranduil put it back on, and then took a thoughtful look at Theli’s sturdy leather thong necklace, with its two totems. 

“It seems as if you need one of my wolves,” Thranduil mused aloud, even as he thought to himself that rainbow blue moonstone might be a good choice for the stone that the wolf should be carved from, “and also a friendship ring . . . and, I think, a marriage ring.” 

“Yes, that one ring did look rather like a marriage ring,” Theli agreed, looking torn between tremulous hope and ambiguous worry, “But I can’t even imagine getting married. I haven’t loved anyone since I was just forty years old.” 

“One thousand and forty years old, or one hundred and forty years old, or just forty years old?” Thranduil bantered back drolly, and with only a hint of a scold. 

“The last,” Theli confessed with a cheeky smile, before turning solemn again as he explained, “Silaen – the elleth I loved - was about six hundred, I think.” 

“She was a little old for you,” Thranduil pointed out kindly. 

“Yes. She was my good friend, but she fell in love with someone else,” Theli reminisced with only a hint of sorrow, “Maedalad was closer to her age, and he was a good ellon, and already established in his village as a carpenter. I liked him even though I was so very jealous of him for Silaen loving him. I used to help her sneak past my grandda’s barriers to visit with Maedalad. He made Silaen happy, and . . . well, I wanted her to be happy more than I wanted her to be mine.” 

“Marriage doesn’t work unless you do love someone like that,” Thranduil counseled gently, “and until they love you the same. And until both of your highest happiness is to be together.” 

“Right,” agreed Theli, “I’ve never had that. It would be a wonderful thing, I think, but I can’t see how it could happen.” 

“It will happen when it happens,” Thranduil advised philosophically, “Don’t worry about it until it does.” Then he gestured to his bed and asked, “Why don’t you go lie down? You seem exhausted enough to sleep well.” 

“Yes, I am that,” Theli agreed, but he still hesitated to go towards the bed. 

With an exasperated sigh, Thranduil walked over and pulled the covers down. He moved into the middle of the four-poster bed, with his head aligned to the middle of the five pillows laid horizontally across the head of the feather mattress. 

Then he gestured again for Theli to join him, feeling a small amount guilty as he did so for having lingered so long with Linwe, and thereby left Theli on his own. Of course his friend and new cousin wouldn’t have felt comfortable just making himself at home in Thranduil’s bed. Well, there was nothing for it now, except to try to put Theli more at his ease. 

“Come on then,” Thranduil encouraged, “You can have the side of the bed nearest the bathing chamber. Linwe likes the side nearest the door.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Theli remarked, as he tentatively and rather ungracefully climbed into the bed, “Captain Linwe is very protective of you.” 

“And of all of his soldiers,” Thranduill pointed out, motioning Theli closer until the younger elf’s head rested up against his King’s left shoulder. To Theli’s credit, he hadn’t hesitated about accepting the affection. He still seemed shy, but he’d taken Thranduil’s word that Thranduil wanted him here, and wanted him close. That was one of a number of things Thranduil had always liked about Theli. He didn’t – usually – have to be told things again and again in order to understand that he should do them. 

“Linwe called you his soldier once more earlier tonight, if you didn’t notice,” Thranduil quietly reminded Theli. 

“I noticed. It’s nice of him,” Theli said happily, but also as if he was still somewhat uncertain. Thranduil could understand that. A breach such as the one which had existed between Linwe and Theli prior to this evening couldn’t be fixed over night. Not even with new knowledge, and the solid beginnings of forgiveness and understanding from Linwe. 

“Mmm,” Thranduil at last responded pensively, since ‘nice’ was too simple of a word to describe it, “Try not to purposely irritate him.” 

Theli laughed lightly, and then looked up to assure Thranduil with wide, dancing eyes, “I only very, very, very rarely do that to Captain Linwe. It’s a quite a chancy business, to annoy him.” 

With a laugh of his own, Thranduil had to agree, “Yes, it is. Even for me.” 

Thranduil put his left arm around Theli’s shoulders, being careful not to put any pressure on the hand-shaped bruise. In addition to the herb-scented bruise balm, Theli smelled like wild mint, and also like some fainter scent which was more difficult to identify. It made Thranduil think of how holding Theli’s bloodstone had made him feel, as if he’d dipped his finger tips into a fast-flowing sylvan brook. The smell was redolent of what it felt like to plunge into a clear, cold forest river, surrounded by pines. It was not unpleasant. In fact, it was rather similar to how Elrond had smelled when he had held Thranduil close. The scent of water in Elrond’s case had been more like the scent of a great river, but still. Not at all dissimilar. 

“Would you like to hear the story of how I befriended a wolf, and ended up bringing him home with me?” Thranduil asked Theli. 

His younger cousin brightened and said, “Yes. I’d like that.” 

“Well, once when I was a young soldier, I was asked to do a wide scout of the perimeter. I was with a fellow soldier. We were perhaps two hours away from camp when I heard the sound of a bear trap closing . . .” 

Thranduil had barely gotten past the point where he and his comrade had put together a make-shift carry pack for the wounded young wolf Thranduil had named Lagor, before Theli’s breath evened out. Thranduil eased the younger elf down against the far pillow and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. Then Thranduil himself moved closer to the middle of the bed, surprised at how relaxed he was, and at how easy it was to drift pleasantly onto the path of dreams even with Theli there. 

When Linwe got into the bed, Thranduil woke enough to hear his gwador’s amused voice comment, “I thought that you were putting him to bed, gwador-laes, not planning to fall asleep yourself.” 

“Mmm,” replied Thranduil, still half-slumbering. 

“Go back to sleep, Thranduil,” Linwe advised affectionately, adding, “at least your new cousin doesn’t snore.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Thranduil agreed, and that was the last thing he remembered until Theli woke them all up in the dark hours of the morning by screaming in the throes of a nightmare.


	25. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theli has a nightmare flashback about a mission for Gandalf in Khand which went badly wrong. Thranduil, long-experienced with nightmares, does his best to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, Thranduil’s friend Linwe, General Rochendil, and Master Rochirion belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please read all warnings. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 3: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “Your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever. ” - Aleksandar Hemon 
> 
> “There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” ― Laurell K. Hamilton 
> 
> “There is no one way to recover and heal from any trauma. Each survivor chooses their own path or stumbles across it.” ― Laurie Matthew 
> 
> Chapter 24 excerpt: 
> 
> “Theli woke them all up in the dark hours of the morning by screaming in the throes of a nightmare.”

Thranduil was no stranger to being woken by nightmares, whether his own or one of his children’s or one of his gwedyr’s. Being woken by Theli’s angry and pained shouts was nothing truly new. It was not even unexpected, given the memories of Enemy lands that Theli had recalled at Elladan’s and Glorfindel’s direction the preceding day.

It was somewhat different in that Theli was screaming and then crying out in a language that Thranduil barely recognized as Khandian. Elladan had been right; Theli’s accent was fairly awful. Thranduil doubted that Linwe would actually understand the words being spoken, but Thranduil did. 

Elladan and the others had certainly implied that they had never been hard-pressed for information. Thranduil noted through his worry and sorrow that Theli’s terror-filled yells and cries backed up that claim. The healer wasn’t trying to convince a past assailant that he didn’t know anything of value. Instead, he was pleading for them to let him go, to please just stop, and then occasionally crying out in pain. 

Thranduil devoutly hoped that whatever-this-was hadn’t truly happened. That this was a nightmare borne of fears and a close call rather than actual memories which Theli had lived through. Either way, Thranduil was glad he’d insisted on keeping Theli close this night. 

As Theli continued to plead brokenly to be let go, Thranduil pushed past his feelings of horrified sympathy to reach over and wake him. 

Only he never got so far as actually touching Theli. Linwe yanked Thranduil away first, quite literally. He put his strong arms around Thranduil’s firm stomach to lift him, and then swung Thranduil over on to the far side of the bed, so that Linwe was now between the King and Theli, holding Thranduil on the other side of him. 

“By the Belain, let me go, Linwe!” Thranduil swore, “I can’t leave him like this!”

Linwe’s vise-like grip on Thranduil didn’t falter as he tightly explained, “Theli is a warrior, too, gwador-laes. One who is highly skilled at unarmed combat. Just now you would not be a savior to him, but only an enemy he must escape from.” 

Thranduil knew that Linwe was right, curse it all. But still, “We have to wake him up, Lin.” 

Linwe’s restraining grasp on Thranduil turned briefly into a reassuring hug, then he said, “I have an idea. Stay back.” 

He released Thranduil, who shifted himself sideways only in so far as to be able to see Linwe and Theli, and not so far as to put himself back into the range of Theli’s flailing limbs. 

Linwe moved closer until he was just outside of Theli’s reach, while muttering softly to himself, “He was my lieutenant for the longest.” 

Then Linwe took a deep breath, and bellowed in his best wide-spread forest-combat yell, “Lieutenant Erynion, Report!” 

Theli awoke and sat up in one shocked movement, gasping for breath. He looked to Linwe, and to Thranduil behind him, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Then he started choking. 

Thranduil was a father four times over. He recognized that expression. He moved around Linwe and helped the faltering Theli into the small privy room inside the bathing chamber. Then he held the younger elf’s hair back while Theli lost most of his dinner. 

“Get his toothbrush and a cup of water for him, would you please, Linwe?” Thranduil asked absently, most of his attention on Theli. 

“How should I know what his toothbrush looks like?” 

With a wry grin, Thranduil advised, “it will be the one in the bag in the cabinet that isn’t yours or mine.” 

Linwe walked back in the direction of the sink while saying something unflattering about Thranduil’s sense of humor under his breath. 

Thranduil forgave Linwe for whatever-it-was he’d said. This wasn’t a good way to have been woken up, and Linwe’s quick thinking had likely saved Thranduil from a black eye, or worse. 

Thranduil turned his attention to his poor heaving friend – and cousin. 

“Shh, mellon-nin,” the King soothed Theli, “All is well. You’re in Minas Tirith with me, and Linwe. And your cousins and Elladan and and Orophin are here and safe, too.” 

Thranduil sighed, then added, “And now that we know you are my cousin, I’m sure that we’ll keep a better eye on you, from here on out. No more trips to Harad, or Mordor, for Eru’s sake.” 

“Khand,” Theli gasped between heaves, “It was Khand.” 

“No more trips to Khand, either,” Thranduil said firmly. Not that he expected Theli to argue. 

And Theli didn’t. 

When Thranduil judged that Theli had thoroughly emptied his stomach, he stroked the younger elf’s hair away from his face again, then put a hand gently but implacably, under Theli’s nearer elbow. 

“Up, mellon-nin. I doubt that there is anything left in you to lose.” 

Theli groaned but didn’t disagree. After a few moments he followed his King’s lead, getting to his feet with Thranduil’s support, and then walking unsteadily into the main bathing chamber and towards the large sink with Thranduil’s arm around his waist. 

The tired Linwe offered a wet toothbrush with cleaning powder. Theli was trembling, but he gratefully accepted that offering with a mumbled thank you. He also squeezed Thranduil’s nearer hand in thanks before letting go. Theli supported himself against the sink with the hand that wasn’t brushing his teeth. 

“You can go back to sleep, Linwe,” Thranduil offered, trying to conceal his own tiredness. 

Linwe raised an eyebrow. 

Thranduil interpreted the expression as saying almost as clearly as words, ‘when you do, gwador laes.’ He sighed at his friend’s stubbornness, even as he blessed Linwe for offering his aid unconditionally. Having the normally cheerful Theli so troubled had Thranduil highly concerned, and quite uncomfortable. The King was not entirely confident of his own ability to help Theli, but he was determined to do his best. Thranduil was grateful that Linwe was unwilling to leave him on his own to handle the situation. 

Theli finished brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth. Then he started to sit down right there on the cold colorful tiles of the bathing chamber floor. 

“Oh, no. No, no,” Thranduil told the younger elf, his parenting instincts coming to the fore once again. He half picked Theli up again, “Not here, mellon-nin, cousin-mine. Let’s at least go to the window seat in the bed chamber, hmm? You will be more comfortable there.” 

Thranduil guided Theli to the wide cushioned window seat in the bedchamber. Then he sat down across from Theli on the far side of the window seat. Linwe, who had followed them, came to stand beside Thranduil. From that position, Linwe reached out over Thranduil’s and Theli’s heads to open the glass and steel window panes so that the cool night air flowed into the room. 

Thranduil nodded to Linwe in thanks and approval. The refreshing breeze smelled of Gondor and Minas Tirith, and nothing like Khand. 

Speaking quietly to Theli, as his father and others had done for him, and as he’d learned to do with his friends and children when they awoke from a particularly awful dream, Thranduil asked, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Theli shook his head firmly, looking down at the powder blue cushions of the window seat rather than at Thranduil or Linwe. At least the nauseated expression on Theli’s face had passed. The tears were dry now, too. Although if Theli had truly had his wits about him, he would have scrubbed away the evidence of crying as well. Thranduil knew that Theli did not like to be seen as weak, or to worry anyone. 

“You don’t want to talk about it with me, or Linwe,” Thranduil concluded gently, “And that’s fine,” for now, “But you need to talk to someone. Who is your mind-healer, Theli?” 

Theli shook his head again, then turned his regard not to Thranduil, but to the trees outside and the mountain and stars beyond them. He soaked in the sight as if he were dying of thirst and the pines and oaks and cherry trees of the King’s Garden and Mount Mindolluin were fresh water. 

“A verbal answer, please,” Thranduil demanded kindly. 

“I don’t have a mind-healer,” Theli answered shortly, still with his gaze focused out the window. 

“Try again,” Thranduil ordered with wry affection, “Nestorion might not have known about Khand, but he does know that you suffer from battle sickness more generally. He would never have consented to me sending you to Ithilien-en-Edhil with Legolas if there wasn’t another healer there whom you could speak to if you had a night like this.” 

“Master Healer Remdir, then,” Theli supplied grumpily, at last looking up to meet Thranduil’s eyes, “But I don’t like to talk to him as a patient. We’ve never talked about any of this, of Khand. And he’s in Ithilien just now, anyway.” 

“Should I send for Galad, then?” Thranduil asked, before remembering that Healer Galadaelin, who was several centuries older than Thranduil, and Theli, who had falsely asserted for the past Age that he was just slightly younger than Thranduil, had a rivalry of sorts. Galad had always been the more senior healer, yes. But when Theli was in favor of a course of treatment which Galad didn’t agree with, Theli was not shy about going over Galad’s head to Master Nestorion or Master Nathrondur, the senior royal surgeon. Master Nestorion and Healer Nathrondur hadn’t overruled Galad that often, but they’d done so frequently enough to put Galad’s nose out of joint when it came to Theli. If Theli had been honest about his age, he probably would have been expected to toe the line established by Galad more often. Although, given that he was Theli, he might not have cared. 

With that in mind, Thranduil offered in the alternative, “Or Healer Belegur of Lorien?” The King knew that the warrior-turned-healer Belegur and Theli had been firm friends since the War of the Last Alliance. 

Theli shivered, “No. I don’t want anyone. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“That’s not an acceptable answer, mellon-nin,” Thranduil counseled fondly but adamantly, “It’s Galad, Belegur, or . . .” and here Thranduil had to clench his teeth for a moment because he disliked the idea so much that it was hard for him to even offer, “Elladan Elrondion.” 

“Elladan, if you must,” Theli answered with a sigh, “I will be fine, though.” 

Thranduil considered that, then asked, “Tell me that you can go back to a real sleep tonight without waking so badly again, Theli. Tell me so, and mean it, and I’ll let this matter go until morning.” 

Theli considered that, then dropped his gaze before quietly answering, “I’ve already slept enough tonight.” 

Turning to Linwe, who was still by his side, Thranduil asked, “Elladan, please, Linwe. And some toast and herbal tea, I think.” 

Linwe nodded. Then he laid a reassuring hand on Theli’s shoulder for a moment, before heading off to collect an extremely annoying healer and a light repast. 

Thranduil waited until the door had shut behind Linwe before asking Theli, “You did see a mind healer for this, for Khand? Didn’t you?” 

If Theli hadn’t, it was amazing that it hadn’t come up sometime during the past few decades. If this – whatever ‘this’ was - had something to do with why Theli hadn’t been able to continue to serve in Thranduil’s army due to battle sickness, then Thranduil was going to have a few words to say to Elladan Elrondion! 

Theli looked up to face Thranduil again, then nodded faintly in answer to his King’s question. 

“Who?” Thranduil tenderly prompted. 

“A healer named Gwaeren,” Theli answered softly, his midnight blue eyes appearing almost black as they reflected the starlight pouring through the window, “He was a Dol Amroth man. He died, a few years ago.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Theli shrugged one shoulder slightly, then replied with a small, sad smile, “Gwaeren was an old man, a widower by then with children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. It was a good death.” 

“That is something,” Thranduil agreed. He paused for a few moments, and then asked, “Did Gwaeren give you a path, Theli? A pattern path?” 

It was a reasonable question, given that Theli had brought that particular mind-healing technique back with him to the Greenwood after his longest sojourn in Dol Amroth. Well, in Dol Amroth and apparently also places further south and less friendly, but Thranduil had only just found out about the latter earlier this same night. 

A pattern path was a way of . . . well, Thranduil wasn’t a mind healer, but he thought of it as a way of re-setting older traumatizing thoughts with a path back to some semblance of peace and strength. 

Theli had tried it with Legolas, to help Legolas deal with his memories of almost dying of orc poison. Theli had asked Legolas to focus on a candle topped by a slowly spinning lamp with a tree shape etched into it. At first Thranduil had thought that the whole thing was ridiculous. The only reason that he’d put up with it was because Nestorion had pointed out that there was no real harm in trying. Also, Legolas was no more inclined to see a mind healer than most other warriors, and he was more likely to listen to Theli than to any other healer. Or perhaps Theli was just better at predicting where Legolas would retreat to when he wanted to avoid his mind-healer, and somehow managing to be there with his stupid candle-lamp ahead of time. 

Theli had used the candle-lamp to have Legolas first remember almost dying – which Thranduil had also thought was ridiculous, irresponsible, and hurtful. Then Theli would have Legolas create a ‘path’ of words and thoughts which would help him to feel better about having almost died. So that, after the pattern path was made, Legolas would no sooner think of the traumatic experience - being hit with the poisoned arrowhead – then that he would also think immediately next that ‘I held my part of the line until reinforcements came up,’ and ‘I survived,’ and ‘I know that I can survive poison now.’ 

Of course, Thranduil hadn’t been there to personally witness Theli’s working with his youngest son to help Legolas forge his pattern-path. Theli, like most mind-healers, usually insisted on private sessions with his patients. But Nestorion had explained the general process to Thranduil. And Thranduil had also elicited some of the more general details from Legolas himself. And, as a loving and supportive father, Thranduil had carefully not said to his child’s face that he thought all of it sounded stupid. That is, until it worked. 

Legolas’ spate of nightmares and frozen moments had disappeared. He had requalified for active army service, and his commanding officers and Theli and the other unit healer had reported to Thranduil that such troubles had not reoccurred. Legolas did still have the occasional bad night when he was on leave, but what warrior didn’t have those? 

Seeing that having made a pattern-path had worked so well for Legolas, Thranduil had decided to see if a pattern-path could work for him, to help with his worst memories. Thranduil could put those terrible memories behind him and keep going, but certain thoughts intruded sometimes when he had a weak moment. Memories such as Thranduil’s father dying at Dagorlad; the time that Thalion had been presumed dead in a bandit attack; the death of Thranduil’s wife and their three middle children; Fileg almost dying in Thranduil’s arms after he got between Thranduil and an assassin; Linwe having been seriously wounded in combat far from the North Hall and Thranduil’s aid; the dying screams of Thranduil’s fellow warriors and the scent of his own skin burning in the breath of Asgareth the dragon; and when Legolas had narrowly missed being cut in two by a goblin’s lance at the Battle of the Five Armies. Oh, and there was a new traumatic memory which Thranduil still needed to do something about – Legolas going to Mordor with Aragorn and That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli! 

That last traumatic memory aside, making a pattern-path for each terrible past incident had helped Thranduil to move past them more easily and less painfully when they came back to him when he was sad or tired. Thranduil hadn’t worked with Theli though, or with a candle shadow-lamp. 

Master Healer Nestorion had been willing to learn the techniques so that he could teach them to Thranduil. The candle shadow-lamp had given Thranduil a headache. Theli had earlier explained to Nestorion that a musical bell rung rhythmically was an alternative to the candle lamp. The bell had worked well for Thranduil as a physical stimulus to anchor the steps of his pattern-path to. He didn’t usually need it, but Thranduil usually traveled with the little bell, just in case. It was in his jewel casket just across the room even now. 

Theli straightened a little and answered, as if he was relieved to be reminded that he had a path, “Yes. And Elladan knows some of my pattern-path.”

Thranduil managed to hide a frown at the mention of Elladan, and instead asked Theli mildly, “Do you need a candle, or a bell?” 

“No. I, um, the candle made me dizzy, and the bell hurt my ears,” Theli answered uncertainly but still with some relief, “He . . .um, Healer Gwaeren. He would tap my hand. My palm.” 

Thranduil held out his hand, palm up, “Show me. Please.” 

Theli tentatively reached out with one hand and tapped Thranduil’s palm with his pointer finger in a steady rhythm. It was hard enough to be felt, but not hard enough to hurt. 

“I have the rhythm now, and the pressure,” Thranduil told Theli hearteningly, “If I tap your hand, can you walk your path safely alone?”

“Yes. You won’t tell anyone anything I say?”

“I promise that I won’t,” Thranduil assured him, “And I’ll catch you and stop you if I hear Linwe coming back.” With a droll half-smile, Thranduil expanded on that last, “I can’t lock the door. Linwe wouldn’t be pleased.” 

Theli nodded, “I don’t blame him. I’m off tonight.” 

“I trust you nonetheless,” Thranduil told Theli, before prompting, “Here, give me your hand.” 

Theli obliged. Thranduil waited for his friend and cousin to nod again, then began tapping Theli’s palm. 

Theli took a minute to breathe deeply, then began, “I’m not there anymore.” 

Thranduil thought to himself that that was usually a good place to start. Most of his own pattern-paths started with that same first step. 

“Elladan and Adrahil came back for me,” Theli continued. 

‘And it was a good thing that they did,’ Thranduil thought to himself, with yet another internal irritated sigh about Elladan’s lackadaisical involvement in the whole matter, and his having heedlessly led Theli and the others into danger. 

Theli took another set of deep breaths, then added, “Elladan, Adrahil, and Tarostar killed everyone who hurt me, except for the spirit-stealer and his servant.” 

Thranduil didn’t have any problem whatsoever with Elladan and the others having killed Theli’s tormentors, but he was slightly concerned by the news that ‘a spirit stealer,’ whatever that was, and its ‘servant,’ had escaped. 

“I survived,” Theli said, seeming much calmer and steadier already, “And I don’t need to go back there.” 

Theli had that part right, at least, Thranduil thought to himself. 

“And if it ever happens again,” Theli continued more confidently, “Orophin taught me to how to end my own life with only my mind, as a last resort, so that I needn’t dread my body and my mind being stolen, and my body used to commit horrible crimes.” 

Thranduil had to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking what in Eru’s name that meant, but fortunately Theli’s path took him back to something safer. 

“I’m not there anymore,” Theli repeated to himself, sounding almost back to his normal self, “And I’m in a safe place.” 

Hearing the sound of returning footsteps at the door – Linwe’s tread purposely louder than normal to give Thranduil more advance notice – the King gently caught his cousin’s hand and squeezed it instead of tapping it, and informed Theli, “We have company.”

Theli took another deep breath and nodded. 

It was Elladan alone who slipped into the dark room, although Thranduil could feel Linwe’s familiar presence on the other side of the door. And also, he thought, Glorfindel’s and Elrohir’s. 

Elladan called out a soft greeting as he stepped lightly across the room to the window seat. Then he turned on the gas-lamp on the table by the window, making Theli and Thranduil both blink at the sudden light, even as dim as it was. 

*Student-mine,* Glorfindel’s golden trumpet-like mind voice rang softly into Thranduil’s thoughts, *Elrohir and I came with Elladan. Unless you – or Ecthelion - need us, we will remain in your sitting room, out of Ecthelion’s sight and hearing.*

Thranduil sent a brief but sincere ‘thank-you,’ then returned his attention to Theli, and the often-annoying Elladan. 

“I feel much better now,” Theli assured his friend, comrade, and newly-revealed cousin Elladan, “Thranduil reminded me that I have a path for . . . what happened in Khand. And he helped me walk it.” 

“Good for Thranduil,” said Elladan lightly, although he didn’t even look at Thranduil as he proceeded to kneel at Theli’s side and ask, “How do you feel now, Theli mellon-nin? Scale of one to ten, one is best.” 

“Two,” Theli answered confidently, then paused for a moment and confessed more truthfully, “Or maybe three. Not worse than three.” 

“That’s not bad,” Elladan said as he rubbed Theli’s hands reassuringly, “Linwe said that this started with a nightmare. How did you feel when you first awoke?” 

“I didn’t wake up from it myself, not really,” Theli answered earnestly, “Linwe woke me, I think. But, umm, maybe a six? Or a seven? Not worse than a seven,” he concluded. 

“You did well to get back to a two and a half, then,” Elladan praised lightly, “Good on you. And on Thranduil and Linwe, I suppose,” Elladan added, but with the entirety of his gaze and attention still on Theli. 

“I feel better enough that it won’t bother me again for a while,” Theli assured Elladan, “Khand won’t, I mean.” 

“Well enough,” Elladan accepted, which made Thranduil want to kick his ankle, “Tell me if that changes, though?” 

To Thranduil, silently, Elladan said resolutely, *Check your anger, cousin Thranduil. And the over-protectiveness. In the sensitive mood he’s in now, Theli could all too easily interpret it as anger AT him.*

Elladan’s mind voice was the rushing river of Elrond mixed with the flower-laden breeze of Celebrian, plus something all Elladan’s own which reminded Thranduil of the alchemists’ laboratories. It made his mind itch at the best of times. 

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Elladan and scolded just as silently, *I am angry about what the lot of you have done, not at him or you. I am NOT overprotective; I am furious that my friend and our mutual cousin was hurt in the course of your foolish, reckless adventures. Eru, Elladan, I’m more angry with you than with Theli!*

*Be as angry as you like,* said Elladan, somehow managing to minimize the part of his mind voice which made Thranduil want to sneeze, *but don’t show it now. Please. It would hurt Theli.* 

Thranduil sent back an irritated surge of agreement, and then returned his attention to the verbal conversation between the mostly steady Theli and the soothing-but-stern Elladan. 

“I will tell you if I feel badly enough about this that I get past a four and a half again,” Theli affirmed to Elladan, “I promised you that I would, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, and I’ll keep my word to you, in return,” Elladan assured Theli, squeezing his hands, “We’re going to have to explain about the spirit-stealer at the briefing, in order to warn our friends and kin that it may still be out there, somewhere. But I think that I can explain about it fully, whilst still leaving what happened to you mostly out of the story.” 

“It’s not relevant, what all happened that night,” Theli argued, “except for learning about the Spirit-Stealer. And that it is likely still around somewhere in Khand.” 

“It’s not relevant, as long as you see a mind-healer when I think you need to,” Elladan replied, his voice kind but determined. 

“I don’t need to,” Theli countered with determination of his own, “It was just a bad night.” 

“A bad night is one thing. If it reoccurs . . .” 

“I try to avoid self-denial, Elladan,” Theli reminded his friend somewhat tartly, “If I start having regular nightmares or flashbacks, I’ll work with a mind healer again.” 

“I know that you will,” Elladan replied with proud approval, “But do remember that I am here, and that I will help you in any way that I can. Always, and without question.” 

“I will remember,” Theli promised. 

Thranduil cleared his throat, which gained him the attention of Elladan’s keenly skeptical heather gray eyes and Theli’s tired midnight blue orbs.

“I am here to help you, too,” Thranduil reminded Theli, choosing to leave any questioning of what had happened in Khand – and he did have questions – for Elladan in the morning. Only if Elladan didn’t have the answers that he needed, would Thranduil trouble Theli with his questions. And even then, Thranduil would do so as delicately and kindly as he could. 

“So you have shown me quite clearly, cousin,” Theli replied to Thranduil’s reminder of his support, along with a somewhat wondering but still impish smile, “and I will not test your temper by thanking you. I already knew that you were a friend whom I trusted. But now I know that you aren’t a half-bad older cousin, either.” 

Thranduil huffed a laugh and replied to that jesting compliment with a fond smile and the droll comment of, “Such sass. Where is the proper deference due your elders?” 

Theli managed a half-grin in return, “I try to save it for the elders who appreciate it.” The younger elf made an unhappy face, then said resignedly, “I suspect that I’m going to need to summon a great deal of deference over the next week or so.” 

“We both are,” Elladan agreed with a commiserating smile, “And it’s more my fault than yours. But tonight, you need to eat and drink something small, and then sleep more if you can. Will you take a sleep draught?” the younger peredhel asked, almost pleadingly. 

Theli shook his head, “Elladan, you know that I don’t like them.” 

Elladan sighed, “Very well. Toast and herbal tea, then, as our older cousin Thranduil requested, and as I believe that your good former Captain Linwe has successfully acquired from the kitchens. I can smell almond and aesa, so I think that he must have managed to find your favorite.” 

“Really?” Theli replied, pleased and touched, “They don’t always stock it in Minas Tirith, you know.” 

“I know,” Elladan said, squeezing Theli’s hands again, and then getting up to open the door for Linwe and the tea tray. Thranduil noticed with a hint of gratitude and satisfaction that Glorfindel and Elrohir managed to stay out of sight. He nodded in thanks to Linwe, and received a reassuring nod in return. 

Thranduil got up from the window seat and ushered Theli into one of the chairs at the small breakfast table. Linwe rested his hand on Theli’s shoulder in silent support for a moment before taking his seat. 

Elladan poured a cup of tea for each of them, from one of two different pots. One was blackberry tea, which Thranduil found acceptable, and recalled that Linwe and Elladan did as well. In addition to the tea, there was toasted bread, butter, honey, blackberries, and cream. 

In Thranduil’s memory, Theli usually drank strong black tea, with a dab of honey if there was honey to be had. Earlier that night he had seemed to enjoy the orange spice tea, but now Elladan had brought him a remarkably sweet-smelling brew. Thranduil could distinguish almonds, and something sweeter. Some herb, or fruit or flower, which he didn’t recognize. 

Elladan added honey to his tea, and Theli did as well, although how he could want to make something that smelled so sweet already taste even sweeter, Thranduil did not know. 

Elladan buttered two pieces of toast and drizzled honey on them, then handed one to Theli. 

“You don’t even like honey on your toast, Elladan,” Theli half-reproached, half-bantered. 

“Thranduil does,” Linwe pointed out, handing Thranduil a similarly prepared piece of toast. 

“Yes, I do, but I do not care for being managed,” Thranduil told his gwador, although he did accept the offering. 

“That’s a funny way to say thank you, Thranduil,” Theli teased. 

“It is, isn’t it?” agreed Linwe, with another of his almost-too-fast-to-be-seen smiles. 

“If the two of you are going to join forces against me,” Thranduil lectured Theli and Linwe, even though he was pleased by their smiles, “then I’m going to let Fileg – and his dubious sense of humor – have free reign.” 

“Is that escalating the matter?” Theli asked Linwe with absent earnestness, “I can’t tell.” 

“It would be,” Linwe agreed equably, “But I’ll handle Fileg, Theli. You eat your toast.” 

Theli was already following that direction. He also ate a few blackberries dipped in cream when Elladan handed them to him, and drank his tea. 

As sweet as Theli’s strange tea smelled, it also smelled like a meadow of honeysuckle and wildflowers in a summer sunset. It was intriguing. 

Theli offered his cup to Thranduil, “Here. Would you like to try a sip? It’s aesa and almond tea. Aesa flowers are like wild honeysuckle, but when dried they have more of a berry syrup taste.” 

Thranduil accepted the sip, and found that he liked the tea. After he finished his blackberry tea, he reached for the pot of almond and aesa tea. At which point Elladan distracted Theli with a question about how best to use aesa to sweeten cough remedies, while Linwe subtly shook his head at Thranduil in warning. 

The King made sure that Theli wasn’t paying attention, then raised an eyebrow at Linwe. Theli had denied Elladan’s offer of a sedative. Surely the tea wasn’t drugged. 

But Linwe shook his head again, so Thranduil refilled his cup from the blackberry tea pot. The King resolved to ask Elladan about drugging Theli without Theli’s permission later. 

Theli began blinking drowsily. He was amenable to Elladan’s situation that he go back to the bed and lay down. Thranduil decided that helping Theli to feel comfortable and safe in a strange room was more important than questioning – or yelling at – Elladan, and followed. The King had Theli lean against his shoulder and stroked the younger elf’s back until Theli seemed soundly asleep, while Elladan and Linwe maneuvered the tea tray back out of the room. 

Just after Thranduil had laid Theli back down on the pillows, a cheerful and very loud commotion erupted from the common room of the guest apartment. 

It was likely Legolas, Thalion, and the others returning from Prince Amrothos’ squire’s brother’s friend’s party, which would normally be a fine thing. But just now it made Thranduil curse irritably, because if it woke Theli up again, that would be a great deal of effort put to waste. 

Thranduil got out of bed, pulled the covers up securely around Theli, then went to investigate what had occasioned such a boisterous return. 

Thranduil encountered the returning Linwe in his private sitting room, in between the bed chamber and the apartment’s large common room. 

“I’ll stay with Theli,” Linwe offered, “Your baby son, and several of his friends, are very drunk. Have fun with that, gwador-laes.” 

“My hero,” said Thranduil sarcastically, even though he agreed with Linwe that it was the best division of their labor given the circumstances. 

“You’re the Ada, Thranduil,” Linwe pointed out heartlessly, “Drunk barely-more-than-elflings are your purview. One of my soldiers suffering from battle-sickness, that I believe that I can handle on my own. If Theli wakes again and I have trouble comforting him, I’ll come and get you. Or even Elladan. Whatever Theli needs.” 

“Thank you, truly,” Thranduil said. 

Linwe embraced him briefly but fiercely, “I’m proud of you, gwador-laes. You’re a good older cousin, and a good father.” 

“I do try,” Thranduil replied, holding onto Linwe’s support for a moment, and selfishly hoping that Legolas didn’t sick up on him like he had the last time when Thranduil had cared for him drunk, although that had been some years ago. 

Apparently following that train of thought as he released Thranduil, Linwe smiled half-sympathetically and offered, “I hope that your shirt stays clean this time. I’m happy to make your youngest child groom every horse we brought with us, if not.” 

“I think that I can handle the discipline, thank you very much,” Thranduil retorted with a wave, even though part of him didn’t think that was a bad idea at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes Chapter 25: 
> 
> The healing technique ‘pattern path’ which Thranduil describes in this chapter is similar to, and inspired by, a psychotherapy technique commonly referred to as “EMDR,” or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy. The way that this PTSD therapy technique is practiced by the human and elven healers in my AU is not exactly the same as EMDR, just inspired by it.


	26. Legolas' New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas made a new friend at Amrothos’ squire’s brother’s friend’s party. Thranduil realizes once again that his youngest son will never cease to find ways to shock him. First Legolas befriended That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli, and now, this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg and his friend Linwe, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 3: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quote chapter 26: 
> 
> “Monsters cannot be announced. One cannot say: 'Here are our monsters,' without immediately turning the monsters into pets.” ― Jacques Derrida
> 
> Chapter 25 excerpt: 
> 
> Just after [Theli had fallen back asleep after his nightmare], a cheerful and very loud commotion erupted from the common room of the guest apartment. 
> 
> It was likely Legolas, Thalion, and the others returning from Prince Amrothos’ squire’s brother’s friend’s party, which would normally be a fine thing. But just now it made Thranduil curse irritably, because if it woke Theli up again, that would be a great deal of effort put to waste. 
> 
> Thranduil got out of bed, pulled the covers up securely around Theli, then went to investigate what had occasioned such a boisterous return. 
> 
> The King encountered the returning Linwe in his private sitting room, in between the bed chamber and the apartment’s large common room. 
> 
> “I’ll stay with Theli,” Linwe offered, “Your baby son, and several of his friends, are very drunk. Have fun with that, gwador-laes.” 
> 
> “My hero,” said Thranduil sarcastically, even though he agreed with Linwe that it was the best division of their labor given the circumstances. 
> 
> “You’re the Ada, Thranduil,” Linwe pointed out heartlessly, “Drunk barely-more-than-elflings are your purview. One of my soldiers suffering from battle-sickness, that I believe that I can handle on my own. If Theli wakes again and I have trouble comforting him, I’ll come and get you. Or even Elladan. Whatever Theli needs.” 
> 
> “Thank you, truly,” Thranduil said. 
> 
> Linwe embraced him briefly but fiercely, “I’m proud of you, gwador-laes. You’re a good older cousin, and a good father.” 
> 
> “I do try,” Thranduil replied, holding onto Linwe’s support for a moment, and selfishly hoping that Legolas didn’t sick up on him like he had the last time when Thranduil had cared for him drunk, although that had been some years ago. 
> 
> Apparently following that train of thought as he released Thranduil, Linwe smiled half-sympathetically and offered, “I hope that your shirt stays clean this time. I’m happy to make your youngest child groom every horse we brought with us, if not.” 
> 
> “I think that I can handle the discipline, thank you very much,” Thranduil retorted with a wave, even though part of him didn’t think that was a bad idea at all.

The common room was full of young elves chattering and laughing, and only about half of them were drunk. Only one of Thranduil’s two sons was drunk. It was clearly Legolas, from his loud voice and exaggerated movements. 

That wasn’t particularly worrying to Thranduil. Legolas hadn’t had a chance to truly experience being young and carefree until just recently. That he would go a bit overboard was not exactly a shock. Nor was him having gotten excessively inebriated in the midst of reliable family members and trusted friends troubling to his father. 

No, Thranduil was more concerned with the giant shining gray-green snake currently wrapped four times around Legolas’ torso, from the waist on up. The reptile’s triangular head was tenderly cradled in Thranduil’s youngest son’s right elbow, as Legolas addressed it admiringly (if drunkenly). 

Legolas’ second-nearest in age cousin, Cenedru, appeared almost equally as drunk. He, however, was leaning away from Legolas and his new cold-blooded companion in apparent disgust. Given that Cenedru was also leaning heavily on his older cousin Mychanar’s shoulder, this resulted in most of the muscular weaponsmith Cenedru’s weight being supported by the slender and scholarly Mychanar. At least cousin Baeraeriel appeared ready to rescue Legolas from the snake, or Mychanar from Cenedru, whichever circumstance came to pass. 

Thranduil’s youngest son noticed his presence and beamed happily in his father’s general direction. 

“Look, Ada!” Legolas caroled excitedly, “I won the prize!” 

Given that the ‘prize’ seemed to be a snake almost as big as Legolas himself, Thranduil wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Snakes were not Thranduil’s favorite animals, but he had nothing against them, as a group. However, the last time the King had seen a snake of this size, it had been when he and his father’s other envoys were guests of the Emperor of Khand, and that snake – which had been the Emperor’s prized executioner - had been showing off its deadly prowess by squeezing a yak to death in its coils. 

As happy as Legolas was, Thranduil didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm, and by all means he did not want to frighten or panic his son – or the snake. Thranduil did rather wish that Linwe had given him a head’s up on the huge reptile aspect of his youngest son’s evening. However, come to think of it, Linwe had been injured in combat training at the time of that particular trip to Khand, and had not accompanied Thranduil and the other members of Greenwood’s trading party. Fileg, on the other hand, had been with Thranduil, and would likely have remembered the giant snake, named “Death Fang III,” which had been that particular Emperor of Khand’s official court executioner. 

Legolas’ new snake seemed to be happy to coil loosely around Thranduil’s son and stare back at Legolas in a manner which seemed almost as adoring as Legolas’ own expression upon introducing Thranduil to his new . . . pet? In any case, the serpent did not appear to be violent. And it was a different color than Death Fang III, although not, Thranduil thought, much shorter or smaller in diameter. 

Thranduil was at a temporary loss for words as he wondered whether he should congratulate Legolas, or instead put his efforts towards gently and carefully separating his beloved child from the almost elf-sized snake. 

Glorfindel, who was still present in the common room along with Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, seemed to be of the former opinion. Or at least so Thranduil gathered from the Balrog-Slayer’s rare indulgent expression, and from Glorfindel finding his tongue before Thranduil did. 

“That is a fine snake, young Thranduilon,” Glorfindel congratulated Legolas calmly but with sincerity, “I suppose that the creature was the prize for winning a drinking contest?” 

Legolas smiled proudly, “Yes. Well, the first prize was supposed to be a parrot, but its owner hadn’t agreed. The parrot disappeared, and Amrothos was afraid that my beautiful new friend here might have eaten it. But it turned out that Amrothos’ squire’s brother’s friend – whose name is Aerandir, by the way - had let my prize loose to take care of an aggressive family of rats in his favorite innkeep’s tavern earlier today, so that’s what the bulge is, here,” Legolas carefully stroked a part of the snake’s long coiled body which did seem somewhat distended, possibly in the shape of several large rats, “and it’s not a parrot,” Legolas finished in a satisfied tone of voice. 

“Faramir and Eowyn found the parrot, who is named Scarlet Lady, with Lieutenant Gwaeren, who is Scarlet Lady’s owner,” cousin Lothgail pointed out helpfully, all the while keeping herself carefully across the room from Legolas and his new reptilian friend. 

“The sailor who almost won the drinking contest was going to cook this lovely snake for dinner!” Legolas exclaimed in horror, stroking the snake again as he asked his father, “Can you even imagine?”

“No,” Thranduil answered. The snake could easily have made dinner for an entire ship full of sailors, but the King wasn’t sure what would possess any sane individual to make a meal out of a giant snake when there were many more normal and tasty options for meals available in Minas Tirith. 

“I’m glad that you understand, Ada,” Legolas confided, seemingly grateful to have found what he perceived to be an advocate in his father, “Of course I had to enter the drinking contest then. Even if I did have to consume two entire buckets full of that bitter-tasting beverage in order to catch up with the other contestants.” 

In a pained voice, Thranduil asked his oldest son, “Thalion, weren’t you and Rian and Lothgail and Mychanar supposed to have been keeping an eye on your younger brother?” 

Thalion sighed, “We made the mistake of going to dance while Legolas and Gimli and the others were singing drinking songs with Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth and his sailor friends. It was only a few dances, Ada. Then we went to find Legolas, Gimli, Cenedru, Brasseniel, Televegil, and Baeraeriel. And, well, we found them pretty much like this.” 

Incredibly drunk – especially Legolas and Cenedru, it seemed. 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at Baeraeriel, who seemed sober, and whom the King normally felt he could rely upon to keep Legolas out of trouble. 

Baeraeriel shook her head. The alabaster orc-teeth beads in her ebony warrior’s braids shone in the lamplight as she solemnly attested, “I kept Legolas safe from pickpockets, and from the sore loser who had wanted to eat the snake, cousin Thranduil. And I helped Thalion and the rest get Legolas and all the others safely back here. I can’t stop Legolas drinking to save a snake. I’m not his commanding officer anymore . . .” 

“Or his nanny,” Baeraeriel’s inebriated younger brother Televegil jested sotto voice. 

Baeraeriel rolled her eyes and flicked her brother’s ear before continuing, “And besides, Legolas insisted that you’d understand.” 

“What’s to understand?” bellowed That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli cheerily, “We had quite the merry time!” 

Gimli went to slap Legolas enthusiastically on the back, but Legolas, perhaps concerned for his snake’s comfort, carefully side-stepped the affection. Then the prince almost fell over his own two feet. Fortunately, both Elrohir and Baeraeriel reached out a hand to steady him in good time. 

That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli did not seem to mind the snake. 

In fact, the dwarf was peering at the gargantuan creature more closely. He even offered to Legolas, “I’ll take your new prize off of your hands, if you’d like, my elven brother. There are a number of bats and creepy-crawly things in Aglarond’s unrenovated cave tunnels. We have to clear some of them out before we can make the rock caverns into living quarters. A beastie like this looks like it could more than hold its own with whatever’s been eating our pet cats and canaries.” 

Legolas cradled the snake’s tremendous head – and fangs - closer to his face, and protested, “No, Gimli. He’s not a prize anymore. He’s my new pet.” 

“She,” Glorfindel corrected tolerantly, “She is your new pet, Legolas.” 

“Oh!” Legolas exclaimed in happy surprise, “How can you tell, Captain Glorfindel?” 

“I’ll explain it to you when you’re sober,” Glorfindel offered wryly, “Suffice to say that my son Arandil had more than one snake as a pet when he was young.” 

“Really?” Thranduil queried, unable to suppress a smile despite the circumstances as he remembered Glorfindel’s exasperated recollections of his son Arandil’s many pets, “Arandil had pet snakes, as well as pet lizards, cats, and dogs?” 

Glorfindel chuckled, “Yes. And also rock-hoppers, mice, squirrels, chinchillas, and Valar only knows what else. I think that there was an orphaned baby fox at one point. There was also at least one raccoon, and two stone martens.” 

“And you just let Uncle Arandil have all of those pets, Glor?” Elladan marveled. 

“No, my heart,” Glorfindel answered, reaching out a hand to tenderly stroke Elladan’s blue-black hair, “Arandil’s mother, my darling wife Laureamoriel, allowed it. She spoiled Arandil terribly.” 

“I cannot help but note,” Thranduil put in, hiding another smile, “that it does take more than one parent to spoil a child.” 

It was rather bold of even Thranduil, to tease Glorfindel in so public a forum, however it distracted him from missing his lost children Thandrin and Eryntheliel and Lithidhren. And from thinking how they would have argued, had they but been here tonight, about whether Thranduil and Minaethiel should let Legolas keep this new snake. They would have brought up old family history, such as when their parents had not allowed Thalion to keep his fine young mountain lion, but later had permitted Eryntheliel to keep her crippled bobcat. And how not even Eryntheliel had wanted to keep the bad-tempered wolverine (at least not after it had bitten her beloved twin Lithidhren). 

Glorfindel raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Thranduil, then successfully distracted the King yet again by saying, “I somehow feel that you could have helped mentioning it, Thranduil-my-student. But given that I do not think you have expected any number of things which have happened tonight, I’ll let it go.” 

“How very magnanimous of you,” Thranduil mocked blandly back. 

While Thranduil and Glorfindel verbally sparred, Gimli had bid farewell to Legolas. Then, perhaps aware that his father was courting trouble, Legolas weaved unsteadily over to Thranduil with his new friend still coiled around him and asked appealingly, “do you want to pet her, Ada?” 

“Do I want. . .” Thranduil began incredulously, then, at the pleading look in his youngest child’s laurel green eyes, he relented, “Oh yes, fine, ion-nin.” 

Thranduil dutifully stroked the snake’s shimmering scales, and managed to compliment, “She is a very pleasing shade of olive green, and the iridescence of her scales is quite attractive.” 

“I think so, too!” Legolas exclaimed loudly, before going back to quietly admiring his snake. 

Lothgail, still carefully on the other side of the room from Legolas’ new friend, said with some concern, “Cousin Thranduil, you seem tired. I’m sorry that we woke you.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself, Lothgail,” Thranduil answered her kindly, “Any night that one of my children brings home a live ‘prize’ of this size, I like to be made aware of it, no matter how late it happens to be.” 

“That seems prudent,” Lothgail agreed, with a smile in her shining dark eyes. Then her expression became concerned again as she inquired, “How is Theli?” 

“He’s fine,” Thranduil reassured her, “He’s even still asleep. Somehow.” 

“He did have a rather long day,” Thalion commented drolly, sharing a smile with his father. 

“Rather,” cousin Mychanar agreed dryly. 

Legolas looked up to regard Thranduil while still petting his snake, who seemed to be enjoying the affection. 

“Poor Theli,” Legolas worried, with the snake’s head – and substantial fangs – still curled dangerously near his throat, “It upsets him so much when people are angry with him, especially people he cares about. Did you yell at him yet, Ada?” 

That breathtaking lack of discretion left Thranduil staring wordlessly at his youngest son. Most of the other elves were similarly boggled. Except for the youngest ones approximating Legolas’ same level of inebriation. They were left unfazed by the question, and simply turned to Thranduil as if expecting his answer. 

Deciding that Legolas was too intoxicated for a lecture on discretion and polite courtesies to make any impression on him, Thranduil sighed and answered shortly, “I have not, ion-nin. Although it would be between me and Theli, if I had.” With a twinge of sympathy for Theli, whom Thranduil knew did indeed hate to be in trouble with his friends, Thranduil thought to himself, ‘Or more accurately, when I do.’ 

Glorfindel cleared his throat, “The consequences for Elladan’s and Ecthelion’s poor decisions have not yet been decided, Legolas.” 

That remonstration caused Elladan look down at the blue and silver patterned carpet with a blush. Elrohir gently nudged his twin’s arm. Then, when that didn’t get a response, he wrapped a comforting arm around Elladan’s shoulders. Thranduil supposed that however furious Elrohir had been with his nine-minutes-younger twin brother earlier that evening, his sympathy and his love for Elladan must have softened his ire. Thranduil found himself a little bit glad to witness his young twin cousins’ reconciliation, despite his own lingering aggravation with Elladan. 

“Oh, I see,” Legolas replied with drunken wisdom to Glorfindel’s calm but dire explanation, “Please don’t be too hard on them, Captain Glorfindel. They’ve all always been quite patient with me.” 

“While that is very good of them,” Glorfindel patiently related to Legolas, “their punishment is not up to you, my fine young elf.” 

“No, I suppose not,” Legolas remarked sadly. 

Thranduil got the impression that his son, despite being upset with Theli’s lack of trust in them all, did very much want to protect the friend who had so often protected him. Thranduil laid a gentle hand on Legolas’ shoulder in silent support, and was rewarded by his youngest son’s brilliant smile. 

Then the snake lifted her shimmering head and flicked her long, forked pink tongue out at Thranduil, seemingly intrigued by the scent of yet another new person. 

Thranduil didn’t back away from his son because of the snake, but the creature did win back Legolas’ attention. 

Legolas stroked the creature’s diamond shaped head and admired her dark eyes and sparkling olivine scales aloud, then pondered, “I wonder if Gimli could make her something nice? Like a jeweled collar that would bring out the color of her scales?” 

Glorfindel, once again the unexpected voice of snake care experience, interrupted calmly but quite sternly, “No, Legolas, a jeweled collar would not be good for her. She wouldn’t even like a velvet ribbon around her neck. It might get caught on something and hurt her. Besides, you should determine first where she will stay and what she will eat. That is, if your father lets you keep her.” 

Legolas turned his wide, appealing laurel green eyes in his father’s direction. Thranduil sighed, and did his best to avoid getting lost in the memories of his son Thandrin and daughter Eryntheliel similarly pleading for Ada and Nana to let them keep their mountain lions, hedge hogs, wolverines, owls, bobcats, etc. 

Thranduil also did his best to keep himself from dwelling on even older memories from his own elflinghood, leavened now by being a parent himself, of elfling-Thranduil begging for his own father Oropher and mother Felith to let him keep, for instance, Lagor the wounded wolf, Clover the rabbit, Zephyr the flying squirrel, Midnight the black bear cub, Ash the Rhunnic coyote, an entire mob of meerkats from the Sunset Isles, or even the baby mongoose Glorfindel’s grown son Arandil had once offered Thranduil right in front of Oropher, over the Balrog Slayer’s own sighs at the audacity of his offspring. 

Thranduil’s parents had, in the end, said ‘yes’ to almost all of his pets. And Thranduil and Minaethiel had usually relented and allowed their children to adopt any animal which could be trained not to eat the wrong things (or people), and to keep to certain standards of hygiene. What kind of hypocrite would Thranduil be, if he denied Legolas this snake, of which his child had already become quite fond? 

And yet, Thranduil did need to learn more about this serpent, in order to make sure that it did not consider elflings and pet dogs to be on its menu. Or even small horses, it . . . she . . . was large enough to eat a horse, after all. 

But at least for tonight, Thranduil decided that leniency was called for. Who knew, perhaps Legolas would even defy every expectation Thranduil had of him, and no longer want a giant snake in the morning when he was sober? 

Thranduil allowed, “Legolas laes-nin, the snake . . . I mean, she, may stay. For at least tonight. But she must sleep in your bedchamber.” 

“No!” exclaimed cousin Cenedru, who was also Fileg’s younger son and one of Legolas’ temporary roommates, “Absolutely not, Las-nin! I was almost eaten by an adolescent giant spider once, and that . . . that creature’s . . . sharp fangs . . .” 

“Her brightly glistening fangs,” Legolas corrected, still cuddling the snake’s head and upper neck, “She’s a her, not just a creature. And she’s very nice, Cenedru. I’m sure that you would like her if you just got to know her.” 

Legolas held out his arm so that the snake could go closer to Cenedru, who yelped in surprised dismay and fell back into Mychanar’s arms. Baeraeriel steadied Mychanar while the older ellon maneuvered Cenedru back onto his feet. 

“Legolas,” Cenedru said a little desperately, “you are one of my only baby cousins and I love you dearly, but don’t bring it . . . I mean her . . . near me! Its . . .I mean . . . her glistening fangs are much bigger than a juvenile giant spider’s. She cannot sleep in our room, because then I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all! Because I would have to keep both of my eyes on her!” 

“But Cenedru . . .” Legolas cajoled. 

“No. I’m sorry, Legolas. But no.” 

Legolas gave up on his roommate and looked around the room in wide-eyed appeal.

Thranduil tried to hide a smile. He was rather curious as to what would happen next. All of their parents and elders, including Thranduil, knew that none of the ‘little’ cousins born during the late Second Age and early Third Age were good at saying ‘no’ to Thranduil’s baby son, who was over two thousand years younger than them. Even Legolas’ cousins also born during the Watchful Peace, such as Cenedru and his sister Brasseniel, were decades older than Legolas, and usually quite indulgent with him. 

Cousin Lothgail quickly bid everyone good night and disappeared into own rooms before Legolas could ask her to accommodate his snake. Thalion’s wife Rian, who was very fond of her baby-brother-in-law but a little wary around any creatures of the sort who might once have shared her cavern prison under Minas Morgul (including snakes), followed Lothgail’s example. 

The young crown prince’s gaze moved to his cousin (and former commanding officer) Baeraeriel. 

“Baera? Please?” Legolas implored, still both cradling and being cradled by his snake.

Baeraeriel tilted her head regretfully and explained, “I’m sharing a room with Cellillien, Legolas. Remember? She went to walk Soldier Bothanar back to the guest barracks? I’m not sure how Cellillien feels about giant snakes.” 

“Mychanar?” Legolas beseeched, turning to the oldest of his late Second Age and early Third Age cousins. Truly the oldest, Thranduil realized, since both Mychanar and his next oldest brother Davron had been born over a century before Theli. 

Mychanar handed the loose-limbed Cenedru off to Baeraeriel and her brother Televegil, then put a fond and consoling hand on Legolas’ shoulder, despite doing so having brought him into close proximity with Legolas’ new friend. 

“No, Legolas,” Mychanar explained kindly and patiently, “I’m afraid that my fellow scribes and scholars would not like hosting a snake without first being consulted about the matter.” 

Undaunted, Legolas turned his attention to his cousin Brasseniel, Cenedru’s next oldest sibling and Fileg’s younger daughter. 

“I’m sorry, Las-nin,” Brasseniel said, her garnet ring flashing as she reached out a hand to clasp Legolas’ nearer hand, despite the snake, “I wouldn’t mind your new pet here, but I’m sharing a room with Lothgail. She doesn’t care for snakes, or lizards. Most other kinds of animals she’s fine with, but she’s never liked pets that are scaly rather than furry. Or slimy pets. She doesn’t like those either.” 

“But my new snake isn’t slimy,” Legolas protested, “Her scales are shiny, and smooth. She feels very nice, look!” 

Brasseniel duly stroked and admired said snake. 

Glorfindel chuckled. Then, much to Thranduil’s surprise, the Balrog-Slayer offered, “Your fine snake can sleep in my study tonight, young Legolas. I have a nice basket in front of the fire which is currently unoccupied. The hearth stones are also quite warm. She’ll be happy enough.” 

Legolas appeared torn between hope and uncertainty. He cradled the snake closer and protested “But she’s already bonded with me. What if she doesn’t want to go with you, Captain Glorfindel?

“I think that we can inspire her to follow us,” Glorfindel asserted, his cobalt blue eyes twinkling with amusement. 

The Balrog-Slayer turned to Elladan and asked, “Elladan, my heart, do you still have those dead cockroaches?” 

While Thranduil marveled that such a sentence could ever have come out of anyone’s mouth, let alone the overbearing and normally sensible Glorfindel’s, Elladan was pulling wads of different kinds of fabrics from the pocket of his healer’s robes. 

“Eww, Elladan,” complained the inebriated and snake-fearing Cenedru, “Why do you have dead cockroaches in the pocket of your robes?” 

“What he said,” seconded Thranduil, “And why did you help prepare tea and toast after touching dead insects?” 

Elladan favored Thranduil with a half-understanding and half-exasperated expression, as he explained, “I did wash my hands, after I temporarily stored my dried cockroach experiments in my pocket, and before touching the food and drink. I’m not an idiot, Thranduil.” 

Thranduil bit his tongue and petitioned the Valar for patience. 

Brasseniel’s attention turned from Legolas’ snake to Elladan. Fileg’s younger daughter was a talented alchemist herself, and a one-time student of Elladan’s. So it was no surprise to Thranduil that there was interest as well as affection glimmering in Brasseniel’s dark eyes as she queried, “the dead cockroaches are part of an experiment, Elladan? What kind?” 

With a spark of his normal enthusiasm, Elladan explained that, “I’m trying to determine which fabric is best for wrapping the cockroaches in to desiccate them. Once dried, they can be ground up, then mixed with bacon fat to produce Imladris’ bacon paste. Our guards use it as a portable and non-perishable source of protein on extended patrols.” 

“Ooh, how clever,” admired Brasseniel, with an intrigued expression on her attractive cat-like face. 

Thranduil made a mental note to never again eat ‘bacon paste’ from Imladris. 

“Eww,” remarked Cenedru, looking a little green. 

“Do people actually pay good coin to eat that, Elladan?” Legolas asked suspiciously, whilst still cradling his snake possessively. Or maybe the snake was cradling Legolas – it was rather hard to tell. Thranduil noted with relief that at least she wasn’t squeezing her coils around his youngest son as if Legolas was a potential dinner entrée.

“Oh yes,” Elladan shared with his customary absent-but-genuine scholar’s fervor, “Our cockroach and bacon paste has become quite popular in certain markets. For instance, sailors in Dol Amroth, Eryn Vorn, and along the Lindon coast like to stock it on their longer voyages. The Lossoth are buying it as a supplement to their winter sources of protein, as are some of the towns of Arnor. Oh, and several innkeepers and avant-garde hostesses in the Shire and Dol Amroth are serving it as a delicacy appetizer. If Aragorn and Faramir ever get around to formalizing a treaty with the Chieftains of Rhun, we’re thinking about expanding into that market, as well. In fact . . .” 

“Fine, so it’s a good source of protein and a gold-spring,” interrupted Baeraeriel’s brother Televegil, “That still doesn’t really explain why dead cockroaches were in your pocket, instead of in your laboratory or getting ground up in the kitchens.” 

Elladan flushed as he answered, “Oh, well, when Linwe came to get us to ask us . . . for our help, with something, I had all of my current primary test cockroaches spread out on the common room table in their respective cloth coverings, in order to record how the different fabrics were affecting the preservation rate of the insects. Erestor does not care for my experiments with insects, as a general matter, and I’m trying not to upset him . . . I mean, more than he already is. So I put on a robe and swept them all into my pocket so that they wouldn’t be left out to bother him.” 

Belatedly, Thranduil realized that Elladan had simply put a navy blue healer’s robe over his silk sleep clothes in order to come to Theli’s aid. It made him think better of the peredhel. 

“And now your test subjects will help us make friends with Legolas’ grand snake,” Glorfindel directed, “so which of them can you spare, my clever young innovator?” 

Elladan flipped through the sewn-together squares of fabric, separating two of them from the others, “Here. The insects being preserved in the lamb’s wool and the alpaca wool aren’t drying out as well as the others. You can use them to feed to Legolas’ shimmering new friend.” 

“Thank you, Elladan,” Glorfindel replied. He carefully extracted the two cockroaches. Then he stepped closer to Legolas and offered the first cockroach to the snake, along with an outstretched arm. 

The snake perked up. It first leaned into Legolas and flicked its tongue into his outer ear, which made the drunk Legolas laugh happily. It also got him to lower his own arms enough for the snake to uncoil. It slithered from Legolas to Glorfindel in search of the treat. 

The Balrog Slayer let the shining olive-green snake have the first cockroach, while handing the other back to Elladan with the instruction, “We’ll give that to her when we deposit her in my office, after she finds a place she likes. I suspect it will be the stone hearth of the fireplace. Snakes, especially those who hail from tropical regions, like warmth.” 

“How do you know that, Glor?” inquired Elrohir, “Were some of Uncle Arandil’s pet snakes from the far South?” 

“Yes,” Glorfindel replied, with a softly reminiscent smile, “My son was also greatly indulged by our King Turgon. Human ambassadors whom Aran Turgon entertained at pre-arranged meeting places outside of Gondolin would sometimes bring us exotic animals, as gifts. Some of the creatures went to Aran Turgon’s Zoological Garden. Others were re-gifted by our King and his daughter the Princess Idril to my ecstatic son. Several animals shared time between the King’s Zoo and Arandil’s rooms, or the private gardens of our home.” 

Now with the snake in his custody, Glorfindel wished them all a fair – if short – night’s sleep. He took the snake as well as the Elrondion twins back to the Imladrin guest apartment with him. Before they left, all three Rivendell elves gave Thranduil and the wavering Legolas and Cenedru sympathetic looks. 

“I’ll come back with something to help them feel better,” Elladan offered. 

Part of Thranduil wanted to decline the offer on the grounds that Elladan had done quite enough, luring Theli and the others into such trouble in the first place, and then just tonight drugging Theli without his knowledge or permission. 

But the better part of Thranduil was thinking as a father, not as Theli’s outraged friend. And perhaps he had also already forgiven Elladan to some extent, because all Thranduil said was, “That would be quite welcome. I suspect that Legolas and Cenedru will regret their excesses in the morning.” 

“Ada,” confessed Legolas, his own face turning pasty, “I don’t feel well.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Thranduil replied with a sigh, “Let’s get you some water and remove ourselves to the bathing chamber ion-nin, shall we?” 

Thranduil put an arm around his staggering son and led him towards his bedchamber and the adjoining bathing room and privy. Mychanar took the stumbling Cenedru back from Baeraeriel, and followed them. 

“I . . . think that I’m starting to feel a little sick, too,” Cenedru groaned. 

“Oh, for Eru’s sake,” Thranduil said exasperatedly, still supporting the faltering Legolas, “Brasseniel, go get your Adar. He’ll want to be here for your brother. Televegil, get Mychanar some water, and a bucket for Cenedru, then go to bed. You may want to sleep in the off-duty guards’ chamber, instead of with your drunk cousins. Mychanar, come with us.” 

Mychanar stayed in Legolas’ and Cenedru’s bathing chamber with Thranduil while the two young elves each in turn lost their battle with alcohol-induced nausea. Fileg turned up at a run to take Mychanar’s place, and then sent his scholarly nephew to take his rest, with Fileg’s gratitude. 

“Had too much to drink, did you, kit?” Fileg commented sympathetically, as he wrapped a warm, reassuring arm around his own shuddering youngest son. 

“Mmm-hmm,” agreed Cenedru tearfully, “And you’re going to tease, Ada.” 

“Of course I am, Cenedru-muin-nin,” said Fileg, offering his son a sip of water from a metal cup, “But not until you’re feeling better. Let’s have another sip of water, hmm?” 

“Ada,” Legolas complained, as Thranduil finally moved his still-suffering grown child towards his bed, “My head hurts.” 

“And it likely will until sometime tomorrow, laes-nin,” Thranduil advised tenderly, “For your own sake as well as mine, I would prefer that you not drink entire buckets of strange brew in the future.” 

“But it was all worth it, to save my snake!” Legolas countered, with an expression conveying satisfaction at a job well-done, despite his physical misery. 

Fileg laughed at that as he helped his son Cenedru to the other bed in the well-appointed chamber. He cheerfully remarked to Thranduil, “I cannot remember exactly when, but I feel as if you must have said those exact same words, Thranduil gwador-nin. In respect of a wolf, or a coyote, rather than a snake. But still, Legolas is very much your son! And your due!” 

“Yes, thank you, Fileg,” Thranduil bantered back, although he could not summon the hypocrisy to say that his cousin and heart-brother was wrong, not even in jest! 

Elladan returned just before the two younger elves fell asleep, with vials of a potion for them to drink which smelled like ginger, along with a pot of willow bark tea and a pitcher of water. Between Elladan and the two fathers, they got each uncomfortable young elf to drink the medicine, a cup of tea, and a cup of water. 

For Thranduil and Fileg, the second son of Elrond had a different set of vials, these smelling of mint and something sweet. 

“This should see to it that your few hours of sleep tonight still make you feel refreshed in the morning,” Elladan explained, “I brought one for Captain Linwe as well.” 

“Thank you, Elladan,” Fileg replied with sincere gratitude. 

Once Elladan had left, Fileg drank down his vial and then asked from his position in the other bed beside his now-sleeping son, “Why would Linwe need one, Thranduil? Our iaur gwador usually elects to leave such situations as this to us, and sleeps through them.” 

“Theli awoke badly with a nightmare not long before the happy revelers returned,” Thranduil explained, while gently stroking his sleeping son’s pale gold hair. 

“Poor more-of-an-elfling than we had thought,” Fileg remarked, “I’m glad that he was with you and Lin, rather than alone in his room in the Healing Hall. Although I feel that Healer Belegur might have been similarly minded against leaving Theli to his own devices this night, had he not been needed to go take care of that idiot man Caelion and his supposedly sick father.” 

After some consideration, Thranduil decided that it would be appropriate, and not a betrayal of Theli’s trust, to explain to Fileg, “Don’t pass this along, but Theli’s nightmare and its aftermath seemed more a flashback than just a terrifying dream. I am planning to inquire further of Elladan what may have prompted Theli’s upset, tomorrow before Glorfindel’s planned briefing.” 

Fileg cursed softly, “Our poor Theli and the other brave idiots weren’t entirely lucky even before their last mission, eh?” 

“It seems not,” Thranduil agreed sorrowfully while looking at his own vial from Elladan suspiciously, “Theli calmed down and fell back asleep after, possibly with some herbal assistance from Elladan,” which Thranduil would also have to ask Elrond’s second son about. The King did not approve of anyone drugging a friend – and fellow cousin – without permission. Despite his lingering mistrust of Elladan, Thranduil did know that his younger kinsman was a talented and generally responsible healer, so he summoned his courage and drank the vial. It did not taste unpleasant.

“Theli will be really upset about having been drugged, if he realizes,” Fileg agreed, “He hates sedatives, or even having too much wine. Do you remember how Nestorion was almost as furious as I was after that idiot of a soldier spiked the citrus punch at the Remembrance Feast all those years ago? My poor little hummingbird Brasseniel never drinks to excess, and she was sick as a dog the next day. So was Theli.” 

“Yes,” Thranduil agreed somberly, as he tenderly tucked the covers more securely around the now peacefully slumbering Legolas, “I’m not absolutely certain that I’m going to tell Theli, if he doesn’t wake up muzzy-headed tomorrow. I’ll make sure that Elladan doesn’t do it again, but Theli did need the sleep.” 

“I can’t argue with that. Do you know what you’re going to decide, in terms of consequences for Theli?” Fileg asked, while comfortingly stroking Cenedru’s loose wavy mahogany hair. 

Thranduil made a disgusted face. He really had no idea, other than the consequences would need to be memorable. The King didn’t want Theli to think that risking his own life without telling anyone, or doing something so dire as running impossibly dangerous errands for Mithrandir without asking for aid, was acceptable. Even if Thranduil had to make his old friend and new-found cousin miserable in order to truly make the lesson sink in. 

“That’s what I thought,” Fileg said empathetically, “I don’t envy you that task. I always have trouble punishing my elflings, too. And my nephews and nieces, blood and otherwise.” 

“Hmm. Yes, I know,” replied Thranduil, with a hint of a laugh. Uncle Fileg and Aunt Calmarille had always been amongst his children’s favorite elfling-minders. 

Fileg chuckled and related, “I think I’m going to let the natural consequences be enough chastisement for Cenedru tomorrow. His sicking up tonight, and then the headache tomorrow, ought to be more than punishment enough. Unless I hear that he did something more foolish than just drinking too much at this party, of course.” 

“I don’t think that he did, or Legolas either,” Thranduil supplied. He decided to wait until tomorrow, and let Fileg be surprised by Legolas’ prospective new pet then. Thranduil thought that Fileg needed more surprises in his life. Really, he was just looking out for his cousin! 

A quiet but authoritative knock sounded at the door to Legolas’, Cenedru’s, and Televegil’s bedchamber. 

Fileg exchanged a questioning look with Thranduil, then went to open the door. 

Thranduil leaned forward to see who it was, then gave a welcoming nod to Healer Galadaelin. Galad, as he was called, was the royal healer who had accompanied Thranduil and his retinue to Minas Tirith. Often it was Master Healer Nestorion himself, the chief royal healer, who journeyed with Thranduil. However, this time Nestorion had stayed in the Greenwood to assist Thranduil’s cousin Silveril with the birth of her first elfling. 

“Young Televegil woke me to advise me that your elflings are unwell,” Healer Galad said softly to Fileg and Thranduil, “I wanted to make sure that you -and they- did not need assistance.” 

Galad’s professional concern turned to exasperation as he realized that Legolas and Cenedru were only sleeping off the effects of excessive imbibement, rather than anything more serious. 

“I’ll stay with your elflings,” Galad offered, after first checking the vital signs of both of the sleeping young ellyn, “I’ll send for you immediately if their condition worsens, but I judge that to be extremely unlikely. So there is no need for you to both be awake for the rest of the night.” 

Thranduil found himself considering the offer. He knew that he could trust Galad with Legolas’ and Cenedru’s safety, yes. But the father in him had trouble leaving his child alone when Legolas might awake and feel unwell again. 

“Come along, gwador-laes,” urged Fileg, who apparently had overcome such qualms, “You heard Galad. Our lads are unlikely to wake again tonight. And you’ll need your wits around you tomorrow.” 

Thranduil wavered. That was true. But Legolas was also like a cat, in Theli’s terminology, in that he had trouble relaxing except around certain people. If he woke up to find Galad there instead of his father and Fileg, he might not be able to fall back asleep. 

“Your Legolas might feel more comfortable with Theli rather than me when he is in such a state, Thranduil,” Galad suggested quietly, “I had thought to bring him, however, my overenthusiastic colleague was not in his bed chamber in the House of Healing. It is extremely unusual for Theli not to have made sure that I at least know where he will be in case I need him to help with a patient.” 

Thranduil noted that, despite Galad’s customary irritation with Theli, the older royal healer seemed somewhat concerned about not being able to find him. Thranduil tilted his head as he tried to determine how to explain that Theli was more-or-less fine, but in Thranduil’s bedchamber rather than his own. 

Galad raised a brow and inquired with a mixture of hope and disapproval, “Unless what I heard about my erstwhile junior colleague earlier tonight is true, in which case I suspect that Theli is quite safe, albeit in a great deal of trouble.” 

“He likely will be soon,” Fileg confirmed with wry good humor, “But he’s asleep in Thranduil’s bedchamber for now. And yes, Theli is much more of an elfling than we had thought. Also, the part about scenic trips around Mordor and other deadly lands is true.” 

Galad went slightly pale. Thranduil was sympathetic. It also made him wonder if Galad’s and Theli’s rivalry might be a little bit more friendly than it had seemed from the outside. 

So it with patience that Thranduil informed Galad, “Also, Theli is my cousin. Theli’s creepy old ogre of a grandfather was in truth Elurin Diorchil. He’s just sailed,” and good riddance, “but he left Theli enough information for us to figure out the rest by ourselves.” 

“Ah,” replied Galad, a hint of dislike for Eldun in his own eyes, “I’m not disappointed to hear that the Witch of the Northern Woods has sailed. Master Nestorion wanted a word with him. I did not believe that would have gone well.” 

Thranduil hadn’t thought so either. He was extremely fond of Nestorion, which was in part why he’d promised his healer heart-father that Eldun would never have a chance to harm Theli again. A promise that Thranduil had kept, even though it had occasionally involved reassigning Theli to other patrols so that there was no chance of him ever again encountering his grandfather. 

“Yes, well, no need to worry about Eldun – or Elurin, rather - anymore,” Thranduil said aloud. 

Now hiding a smile, Galad remarked, “It is interesting to learn that Theli is your cousin, Thranduil.” 

Fileg laughed, “Rather unsurprising, in some ways, wouldn’t you say,” he remarked to Galad. 

Thranduil rolled his eyes at his cousin and dear friend, then made the mistake of looking over to Galad, only to see that the healer was coughing to hide a chuckle of his own. 

“Go ahead and say it, Galad,” Thranduil ordered resignedly, “You might as well.” 

Galad managed to banish any sign of merriment from his expression as he replied, “I simply meant that you and Ecthelion do have several traits in common. I would never say so myself, but I have heard it said that you are both remarkably challenging patients.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t say so,” Thranduil agreed sardonically, “Nor would you be the first ‘not to say so.’” 

“That was me,” Fileg claimed proudly. 

“I see,” said Galad, still hiding a smile. His expression turned pensive as he asked, “I also heard that Theli will be returning to the Greenwood with us. This . . . him being the great-grandson of Elu Diorchil. It will not mean that Theli has to leave his calling as a healer entirely, as it did when he was soldiering full-time, will it?” 

“I shouldn’t think so,” Thranduil answered, “I don’t think that would be right for Theli.” 

“I agree,” said Galad, with a half-irritated, half-fond smile, “Theli is an idiot more than half of the time, even taking account his real age. But he’s also a good healer. I have to admit that I would miss him if Lord Celeborn were to relocate him to East Lorien. Or, Eru forbid, if he had died in the South.” 

Thranduil chuckled, “I’ll do you the favor of not telling him that.” 

“Please,” Galad requested sincerely, “I don’t want Theli to know that I’m going to have him inventory every medicine in the entire Hall and write supply orders until his hand cramps because I was worried about his safety, of all things.” 

“I may have to overrule that,” Thranduil warned Galad, “Theli may be busy enough learning to be my cousin. You know, the parts that don’t involve being a horrible patient, since apparently he already has that down.” 

“That’s likely, yes,” Galad conceded, hiding another smile, “It’s also likely that you’ll need your rest if you’re going to be teaching him, Thranduil. Go on to bed now. I’ll stay with the elflings.” 

Thranduil nodded. He pressed a paternal kiss to Legolas’ sleeping brow, then followed Fileg out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note chapter 26: 
> 
> This is approximately what Legolas’ new snake looks like: 
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liasis_olivaceus
> 
> Only Legolas’ snake is much larger!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over breakfast, the fate of Legolas’ new snake is determined. She also gets a name. Meanwhile, Theli finds the notion of changing clothes before breakfast to be far more surprising than finding a python sitting beside him at the breakfast table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 3: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes chapter 27 
> 
> “In the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.” - Kahlil Gibran 
> 
> “Monsters cannot be announced. One cannot say: 'Here are our monsters,' without immediately turning the monsters into pets.” ― Jacques Derrida
> 
>  
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 26: 
> 
> After thinking the matter through, Thranduil allowed, “Legolas laes-nin, the snake . . . I mean, she, may stay. For at least tonight.”

Despite his interrupted sleep, Thranduil woke refreshed the next morning. He supposed that he had to give Elladan and his concoctions some credit after all. Thranduil did, however, sleep through morning arms practice; but so did most of his entourage. 

Theli stayed soundly asleep through Linwe leaving and Thranduil getting up and preparing for the day. Today the King’s silver wolf-shaped buttons ran down the front of his black silver-and-jewel embroidered silk tunic, so he could handle dressing himself. Thranduil’s leggings were of charcoal gray suede, brushed soft and shining. Today, for the briefing, he would wear his greatsword as well as his sapphire-pommeled dagger on his soft black leather belt. 

Most mornings during their stay in Minas Tirith, breakfast was a relatively informal meal eaten in the guest apartment’s large dining room. Fresh dishes, plates and drinks were brought by rotating members of the cheerful Citadel staff employed by Aragorn and Arwen. 

This morning, the sideboard in the dining room offered large warming trays with eggs, bacon, sausage, porridge, what passed for pancakes here, and two different spicy tomato-and-onion based sauces, both of which Thranduil avoided. There were also bowls and plates with cold berries and melons, ham and cheese, and a leafy lettuce-type vegetable with a nutty flavor to it.

To Legolas’ delight, there was plenty of maple syrup, along with jams, cream, butter and bread. Hot tea and hot coffee were available on a small table beside the sideboard, along with tea pots containing only hot water, with a selection of different jars of herbal tea leaves. There were also pitchers of milk, lemonade, cold mint tea, orange juice from Dol Amroth, and sourberry juice. Thranduil avoided that last, although Linwe and both of Fileg’s younger children liked it. 

This morning the dining room table was more sparsely populated than usual. Linwe and the other currently-serving army elves were breakfasting with the Citadel guard. Lothgail and some of the other ellith had joined Arwen and her ladies for a morning ceremony dedicating a new garden on the First Level of the city. They would be enjoying an al fresco meal there. Still, there was already a great deal of commotion and friendly chatter in the dining room by the time which Thranduil arrived. He had decided to leave Theli to sleep in. 

Breakfast in the Greenwood suite was improved, as it always when she was on her good behavior, by the presence of Thranduil's granddaughter Calenwen. Her piping voice sharing whatever adventures she'd had in the royal nursery or the gardens before breakfast was always welcome to Thranduil. He enjoyed having a grandchild. He was finding it to be much less work to be a grandparent as opposed to a parent, which made it easier to delight in interacting with Calenwen without worrying about whether the little elfling was behaving well or dressed appropriately. 

Not that Thalion as an elfling had usually been a challenge in either regard. Thandrin, however, and sometimes Eryntheliel and Legolas, rather had been. And even Thalion and Lithidhren had had their moments. Not enough so that Thranduil felt it was entirely fair for Thalion to have ended up with an elfling as spirited, adventurous, and self-directed as Calenwen, as much as Thranduil did love her. 

Thranduil suspected that Calenwen must take after Rian's side of the family. That didn't particularly worry him, even though Rian's grandfather had, in truth, and in secret, been Maglor Feanorion. Thranduil had known three of Maglor's granddaughters. They were all strong-willed ellith, but none of them were possessed of the self-entitlement and ruthlessness which had been hallmarks of the sons of Feanor. Even Thranduil’s cousin Amroth’s beloved Nimrodel, whom Thranduil had found haughty and had not particularly liked, had never, to the best of Thranduil's knowledge, misused her power. 

Thranduil missed having his granddaughter Calenwen sleep in their same guest apartment and sometimes wake her Daerada up by bouncing on his bed, much as Thranduil’s own children had once done when they were small. Linwe was rather less a fan of this behavior, but he tolerated it for the sake of Thranduil’s happiness. Theli, who loved elflings, would probably not mind, should it happen again during the duration of their stay. 

Thranduil and his family were staying in the third largest guest apartments within the King's House of the Citadel in Minas Tirith. It was the set of rooms which had once belonged to King Anarion Elendilchil's oldest daughter Princess Inkeri, and her husband the first Lord of Lossarnach, and their many children. It was also the guest apartment where the Ithilien-en-Edhil elves often stayed when they visited Imladris in any number. 

Calenwen usually had her own room next to Thalion's and Rian's bedchamber. However, Thranduil had brought such a large delegation this time that the 'Lilac Room' which Calenwen generally considered to be 'hers' was currently being shared by two grown ellith – cousin Lothgail, and cousin Brasseniel, who was Fileg’s younger daughter. 

Calenwen had taken her displacement to a cot in her parents' guest room with relative equanimity, as it had been paired with her parents' permission to spend most of her nights in the grand Royal Nursery Dormitory on the third floor of the King's House. 

As much as Thranduil did miss Calenwen until one of Arwen's ladies returned her in the morning, he understood why it was more fun for his granddaughter to stay in the little girls' dormitory room. There she had the company of Faramir’s and Eowyn's daughter Theodwyn, Theodwyn’s friend little Sayril Olidhoriel, and Orophin's and Eilunwen's twin daughters, Gailistiel and Galadthwinn, who were almost universally called by their nicknames of Lisi and Gala. 

The large Royal Nursery had dormitories and sumptuous bathing chambers for both the male and female children. It also had spacious school rooms, a library filled with beautifully illustrated books intended to appeal to children of all ages, and a toy and play room which would be the envy of any small child. 

The toy and play room had a great deal of floor space for playing, and also several multi-story brightly painted wooden forts, stables, and ships complete with slides, rope ladders, and cushions. The two-story wooden stable was full of rocking and wheeled horses, as well as rocking and wheeled dragons, sea serpents, giant cats, mumakil, griffins, and some creatures which Thranduil didn’t even recognize. 

“It’s Eldarion’s swamp monster,” his granddaughter Calenwen had explained of one of them when Thranduil had asked. 

“And what is a ‘swamp monster,’ iel-nin?” 

“One of that, Daerada. Because Eldarion says so.” 

So far as Thranduil could tell, that might be because Eldarion had thought up said swamp monster out of his imagination, and then asked That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli or some other indulgent craftsman to make his creation into a riding toy for him. Or it could be that swamp monsters actually existed in the west Gondorian marshes, and that they objectively looked like the red-eyed, brown-furred and green-scaled monstronsity which Eldarion liked to ride around the play room whilst swinging his toy sword. Thranduil was not sure which. 

There were also chests full of toys. Toy weapons, toy dolls, toy soldiers, toy animals (both stuffed and carved), toy automatons, toy puppets, toy blocks, and dress-up costumes. And there were shelves full of toy castles, toy houses, and toy battleships, including a scale model of Minas Tirith complete with a toy King, Queen, princes, princesses, knights, ladies, healers, soldiers, craftsmen, etc. etc. 

There was even a child’s version of Glorfindel’s famous sand table for reenacting large scale battles. The one in the royal nursery actually looked like it might have been designed by Glorfindel, just scaled down to a child’s height and hands. It had adjustable legs so that the table could be ramped up or down for the height of the specific children playing with it at any given time. And it also had deep drawers underneath it for storing toy soldiers, horses, wagons, boats, and extra mountains, hills, trees, water features, volcanoes, catapults, fires, and tokens denoting mist or snow. The sand table itself had interchangeable panels, so that it could have additional rivers, mountains, deserts, forests, and other obstacles added or removed from it at the will of the players (or their minders). 

Thranduil had very much enjoyed supervising Calenwen’s, Eldarion’s, Veantur’s, Theodwyn’s, Laeriant’s, and Lisi’s playing war on the sand table. When the children and the elflings got older, Greenwood’s King was planning to divide them up into two teams and then challenge Glorfindel to coach one while he coached the other. Or to ask Rochendil or Legolas to coach the opposing team, if Thranduil was too annoyed with Glorfindel to want to be around him for a substantial amount of time on that particular future date. 

This morning, Calenwen was on her best behavior, because Legolas’ new snake had somehow ended up occupying the seat beside her. And if Calenwen behaved well, she got to keep feeding bits of her breakfast eggs to the snake. Legolas’ serpent had coiled her long body on the chair in such a way that her head and eyes were even with Calenwen’s. Thranduil thought that the creature looked disturbingly like a person when it arrayed its coils in such a fashion. 

Glorfindel had returned the snake to the Greenwood apartments so early in the morning that only Linwe, Calmarille and Brasseniel had been awake. As Brasseniel explained to Thranduil when he arrived to breakfast, the snake had eaten the mice which had been trying to get at the puppy treats in Glorfindel’s desk drawers, which Glorfindel had actually quite appreciated. But it had also chased Gailchend, Erestor’s beloved black cat. 

Glorfindel had reported to Brasseniel that it hadn’t really seemed to the Balrog-Slayer as if Legolas’ prospective pet was trying to eat Gailchend, just get to know her better. But for Erestor’s peace of mind, his doting grandfather Glorfindel had returned the snake. 

Thranduil watched cautiously as Calenwen took a bite of scrambled eggs, then picked up a hard-boiled egg (which her doting Uncle Legolas had de-shelled and salted for her), and offered it to the snake. The snake delicately took the oval treat from the thrilled little elleth’s hands. It swallowed, then stuck its pink forked tongue out at Calenwen in what appeared to be a snakey expression of gratitude. The creature was growing on Thranduil, despite his continuing reservations. 

Calenwen’s mother Rian, sitting on Legolas’ other side, seemed to be feeling much the same way. Or at least so Thranduil gathered from her very reserved demeanor at the beginning of the meal having gradually changed into a more pensive, considering expression. 

Thranduil’s granddaughter took a neat bite of the spicy vegetable sauce, a bite of cheese, and ate three blackberries and a blueberry. Then she offered a large piece of her scrambled eggs to the snake. 

The reptile tickled her little fingers with its tongue as it accepted the offering. 

Calenwen giggled, and then proposed in her melodic child’s soprano, “Eggs is a good name for her.” 

Rian smiled and gently counseled, “My daughter, he . . .”

“She, Nana,” Calenwen corrected helpfully. 

“I beg your pardon,” Rian said politely to both the snake and Calenwen, “she, is Legolas’ pet. Legolas will have the responsibilities of caring for her, so he should also get the privilege of naming her.” 

“What about ‘Rainbow,’ Legolas’?” Brasseniel put forth enthusiastically, “since her scales are olive-green, but have rainbow iridescence.” 

“Or Shimmer?” suggested Brasseniel’s mother Calmarille, drawn into the name search. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Legolas replied cheerfully, “sometimes I have to get to know a new pet first before I name her – or him.” 

“Ion-nin,” Thranduil said to Legolas with a sigh, “I don’t want to dampen your enthusiasm, but she is only MAYBE your new pet. We still have yet to determine whether she views elfings, or Calenwen’s puppy Wolfing, as food. In which case Brasseniel tells us that Elladan has offered for her to go and live in the carnivorous plants green houses in Imladris.” 

Calenwen frowned, and then remarked in a sad little lilt, “But she doesn’t want to go live with the Carnival plants in Imladris. She wants to be my friend, Daerada!” 

Thranduil sighed again. He had a hard time saying ‘no’ to Legolas. Saying ‘no’ to Calenwen was nearly impossible for the King. He usually waited for Rian or Thalion, or even Legolas or Theli, to do it for him. 

Noting Thranduil’s reluctance to actually send the snake away, Legolas asked hopefully, “Ada, can she sleep in your room?” 

“Linwe said no, laes-nin,” Thranduil reminded his youngest son. 

Legolas sighed, then looked hopefully to his older brother Thalion, who was the prince’s last chance for finding accommodation for his snake in their guest apartments. 

Ever since Thalion and Legolas had renewed and re-defined their relationship in the wake of the Ring War, Thalion had also come to find it difficult to say ‘no’ to his baby brother. 

Now Thranduil’s oldest son put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked to his wife and asked, “My love? What think you?” 

Rian tilted her head thoughtfully, then got up to go and kneel beside the snake and meet it in the eyes. Thranduil knew that his daughter-by-law had an aversion to any type of animal which might have shared her and her cousin Mithrellas’ cave prison beneath Minas Morgul, including snakes. He also knew that Rian loved Legolas, and would do her best to give ‘Eggs’ a fair chance. 

Thranduil and Legolas were both better at ‘speaking’ to creatures than Rian, however Rian had developed a great sensitivity to evil, and to the thoughts of cave animals which might have once preyed upon her or her fellow prisoners. 

Rian continued staring into the snake’s eyes. Then she began to gently stroke its smooth, scaly head. 

“She is just a snake,” Rian related in her fluting soprano, “And she does not seem to think that anything here in our quarters is on the menu except the eggs and perhaps the mice, although the mice do not entirely smell like food to her.” 

Rian shuddered delicately, then asked with what Thranduil viewed as vaporishly feminine concern, “There are . . . mice here in this apartment?” 

“My mice,” Thranduil corrected with stony firmness, “My pet mice, whom I rescued as babies from the web of the giant spider we killed on our way through the south of our Wood. Legolas’ snake may not have them.” Thranduil had already had a talk with the two queen cats of the Citadel, Smaug and Admiral, about them and their furry feline fellows leaving his mice alone during this visit. 

Rian shuddered lightly again, but she did concede to Thranduil’s assertion of mice ownership with a courteous nod in her father-by-law’s direction. 

Then Rian graciously allowed, “Well, we do not have pet mice in Ithilien-en-Edhil, or in our bedchamber. And Legolas’ snake does seem to like Calenwen. I am satisfied that she will not hunt my daughter, even if Calenwen does smell like her breakfast.” 

With that, Rian tenderly cleaned her daughter’s greasy hands on a napkin, before concluding, “Legolas muindor-dithen-nin, your snake may sleep on the hearth in our bedchamber here in the apartment. We can find a basket for her, if she would prefer. That is, if Adar Thranduil doesn’t mind her dwelling here in the apartment with all of us . . . and his mice.” 

Fortunately Thranduil didn’t have to answer that query immediately, because Theli entered the dining room, brushing back a lock of wavy ash blond hair with a barely-awake expression. Thranduil noted with resigned disapproval that his old friend and new cousin was still clad in his linen sleeping tunic and loose blue cotton leggings. 

“No, Theli,” Fileg said in a friendly but very firm tone, “One wears one’s breakfast clothing to the morning meal, not one’s sleep clothes.” 

Theli blinked at Fileg in confused disbelief, then replied with an expression which was both wondering and intensely irritated, “What in the name of . . .” Theli belatedly noticed Calenwen’s, Rian’s, Calmarille’s and Brasseniel’s presence, and changed his originally intended wording to, “the Forest, are breakfast clothes!?” 

“For our purposes today,” Fileg directed in an elder-brotherly tone as he arose from his seat and took hold of Theli by the elbow, “they are the clothes I packed for you which are neither your sleeping clothes, nor your semi-formal clothes for the briefing later this morning.” 

“But you’re already wearing your good clothes, Fileg,” Theli replied, torn between bewilderment and frustration, “and so is Thranduil! Why can’t I just change into my ‘semi-formal’ clothes now, so that I don’t have to change twice?” 

“Because I have more faith in myself and Thranduil not to spill our breakfast on our clothing than I do in you,” Fileg explained as he directed Theli implacably back in the direction of Thranduil’s private rooms, “Although why that is in my gwador’s case, with Calenwen here, I’m not sure.” 

Thranduil mentally rolled his eyes at that, then smiled and winked at Calenwen. She grinned back at him as she pretended to be about to spill her milk in her grandfather’s direction. Fortunately, she stuck to just pretending! 

From the common room, Thranduil could faintly hear Theli mumbling something uncomplimentary under his breath about Fileg’s judgment and choice in pastimes. 

“Do keep that up,” Fileg suggested, clearly amused, “You have such an interesting vocabulary, elfling.” 

There was a pause, and then Fileg’s merry laugh as he inquired of Theli, “What does that gesture even mean?” 

Calenwen leaned forward in her seat to peer around Legolas and ask of her mother, “When Theli comes back, can I get up and give him a big hug? I’ve missed him!” 

“You may,” Rian corrected with a tolerant smile, “if you clean your hands with your damp napkin, and then dry them on your dry napkin. You have butter and apple jelly from your toast on your fingers.” 

Theli and Fileg soon returned, with Theli now dressed plainly but appropriately. Calenwen promptly got out of her seat to jump-ambush-hug Theli. 

The healer-lord caught the elfling with an “oof.” Holding Calenwen in his arms, Theli told her, “I think that you’ve grown since I last saw you three days ago, Chipmunk!” 

“I have!” Calenwen said enthusiastically, “I feel taller, and now Wolfling will heel, and Uncle Legolas’ snake likes eggs! Can you sit with me?” 

Theli listened to all of this with an alert, interested expression on his face, then did a double-take upon seeing the huge snake coiled in the chair on the other side of Calenwen’s unoccupied seat. 

Shifting Calenwen to his right arm in a cautious way which left his nearer left arm free to fend off a possible snake attack, Theli asked, “Why is there an olive python at the breakfast table?” 

Legolas brightened, “Oh, do you know what specific breed of snake she is, Theli? Can you tell Ada that she won’t eat infants or elflings or puppies or otters, or whatever he’s worried about?” 

Theli looked to Rian and Thalion for permission. After their nods, he sat down carefully in Calenwen’s seat next to the snake, settling the elfling gently on the far side of his lap from the python. 

With his gaze moving back and forth between Thranduil and Legolas, Theli explained thoughtfully, “In the case of some pythons, I couldn’t say that, Legolas, because it wouldn’t be true. Olive pythons, though, as I recall, if raised kindly by humans as it seems that this one has been, are usually friendly and don’t associate Men – or elves – with food. They will eat wild birds if they can get them, and lizards and little crocodiles. They do eat some mammals, but we’re talking more rats, moles, bunnies, raccoons, and maybe small deer. And I’ve heard from the sailors and snake merchants . . .” 

Thranduil interrupted blandly, “Snake merchants?” 

Theli correctly interpreted his King’s question as a subtle criticism of his unauthorized adventures in Enemy Lands. He regarded Thranduil for a moment with an expression that ranged between amused and mildly apologetic, then he helpfully elaborated, “Yes, snake merchants. In Harad, and Khand. Snakes were considered good pets there, by the wealthy and eccentric, and by sailors. Sometimes a ship would have a python instead of a cat, or a cat and a python, and they’ll live in peace with eachother. Enough rats and fish at sea for snakes and cats alike, I suppose.” 

“Ecthelion,” Thranduil asked with exaggerated patience, “how in Eru’s name were you able to hide your wide travels throughout Enemy lands for as long as you did?” 

“Well,” Theli replied earnestly, “no one ever brought home an olive python from the sunset Isles beyond Khand before.” 

“Is that where she’s from?” Legolas asked, idly offering his adoring pet another hard-boiled egg. 

“Hmm, her parents or grandparents, maybe,” Theli explained after a moment’s thought, “She seems like she’s been raised from an egg to live with Men. The snake merchants told Adrahil and I that olive pythons such as her, and some other more intelligent species of pythons, won’t eat or even hunt anything that smells like the humans who raised them, or even smells like food provided by humans. So, pet dogs, cats, baby horses, goats, anything that humans or elves touch or feed, even rabbits and messenger pigeons, should be safe.” 

Thranduil considered that, then pointed out with lingering concern, “Glorfindel said that she went after Erestor’s cat.” 

Theli tilted his head and queried dubiously, “That she went after Gailchend to eat her, or to meet her? Olive pythons like to sniff the animals and humans they live with all over, to get to know them.” 

Brasseniel nodded eagerly, “Glorfindel thought that she was just investigating Erestor’s cat. I think that your snake is a marvel in biological engineering, Legolas!” 

“Marvel,” Legolas mused, “That’s a good name for her.” 

Calenwen shook her head as if her poor Uncle Legolas was a little slow of wit, and argued, “I still like ‘Eggs.’” 

Legolas smiled at his niece, “‘Lady Shimmering Rainbow Marvel, the great Eater of Eggs.’ That shall be her name. I’ll call her Marvel for short, and you can call her Eggs, because they’re both part of her name. How is that, Chipmunk?” 

Calenwen nodded with great satisfaction. She fed Marvel/Eggs another bite of egg whilst remarking, “That’s very good, Uncle Legolas.” 

Thranduil and everyone else finished their breakfast while Theli was still just beginning his. One of Thranduil’s guards brought him a message from Glorfindel, affirming that the Balrog Slayer and Elladan both had time for a private talk with Thranduil before the general briefing. 

“Fileg,” Thranduil requested, “We do indeed have the obligation I spoke of earlier to attend. Theli,” the King had to hide a smile at his friend’s healthy appetite, “Finish your breakfast. Linwe and Teliemir will bring you to the briefing later this morning.” 

“Captains Linwe and Teliemir?” Theli repeated after he finished swallowing a bite of pancakes, “Are you sure, Thranduil?” 

“No, I say these things because I like to hear myself talk,” Thranduil retorted with mild sarcasm, before elaborating, “You’re to let them help you dress appropriately, and generally to do as they say.” 

“We can bring Theli with us,” Legolas offered, with an apologetic grin to Theli, likely for his father’s highhandedness. 

“No, ion-nin,” Thranduil drawled, “You and Thalion need to speak with Baeraeriel, and possibly also with Faramir and Eowyn, regarding those security matters to the South which affect Ithilien-en-Edhil. Linwe and Teliemir are perfectly capable of assisting Theli and making sure that he arrives on time.” 

Theli bit his tongue on what was likely a complaint over being discussed as if he were an elfling. Thranduil nodded at him approvingly. 

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas and Thalion chorused, the first with a sigh and the latter agreeably. 

“I will see you all later today,” Thranduil concluded. He gave his granddaughter and both of his children a kiss to their brows in farewell. He also tugged gently on a wavy lock of Theli’s hair with the silent reminder, *Behave. Be patient. All will be well.* 

Startled, Theli put his fork down and gave Thranduil a pensive nod and a tentative smile. Thranduil was also rewarded by a pleased and proud look from Legolas, which he did not entirely understand, but appreciated nonetheless. 

As they exited the door of the apartment into the empty hallway, Fileg jested, “Did you check with Linwe before you volunteered him for elfling-minding?” 

“Yes,” Thranduil replied wryly, “We spoke this morning, between his return from early arms practice and his departure for breakfast with Teliemir’s company. He and Teliemir are fine with making sure that Theli dresses in the clothes you laid out, and with trying to keep him from becoming overwhelmed by his nerves in anticipation of being scolded further at the briefing.” 

“Well, Linwe is generally fairly good at stepping up to whatever task he’s decided to take on,” Fileg remarked philosophically, “And I think that I’ve talked Theli into cooperating with whatever he’s told to do, clothing and appearance-wise. At least for today, and hopefully for the rest of our stay here.” 

“Lectured him, did you?” Thranduil inquired dryly. 

“A bit, yes, to be honest,” Fileg admitted, “I wasn’t angry with him, but he was frustrated with the situation, and in need of a little re-direction. He took it well enough, although,” Fileg smiled ruefully, “He still doesn’t understand the need for sleeping clothes. You know the saying, you can take the wood elf out of the wood . . .” 

Thranduil smiled back, although he couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for Theli. It had been a challenging day and a half for his younger cousin. Still, he was sure that Fileg would have kept the lecture relatively mild. 

“Is it just Glorfindel and Elladan we’re going to be meeting with?” Fileg asked genially. 

“I’m sorry, gwador, but it’s just me who is going to talk to Glorfindel and Elladan,” Thranduil explained apologetically, “For the sake of keeping Theli’s confidences, I think it is better done alone.” 

“Well enough,” Fileg conceded amiably, “I’m happy enough to bide my time waiting for you in any case. Part of my job. Besides, Elrohir will likely be unwilling to let his twin get too far away from him, so he’ll probably be about. Elrohir is usually good company. But do let me know if there’s anything that I can do to help you, or Theli.” 

“I will,” Thranduil affirmed, “and thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are still enjoying the story, I'd love to hear from you. Comments are the only way to know if people are still reading a longer story, since the 'kudos' button only works once! Thanks for reading either way.


	28. The Man with the Ancient Eyes, or 'The Spirit-Stealer'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan tells Thranduil and Glorfindel what went wrong in Khand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This chapter is very sad, but the next ones will be lighter! 
> 
> A/N 2: More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 3: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 4: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes chapter 28 
> 
> “This is the problem with dealing with someone who is actually a good listener. They don’t jump in on your sentences, saving you from actually finishing them, or talk over you, allowing what you do manage to get out to be lost or altered in transit. Instead, they wait, so you have to keep going.” - Sara Dessen 
> 
> “There are things you don't want to know you can do.” ― Robin McKinley 
> 
> “It's hard to say. Sometimes people have had terrible childhoods. And sometimes they just haven't found their special place in life. And sometimes they're dogs from hell and must be destroyed.” ― Charles Addams
> 
>  
> 
> Excerpt Chapter 27: 
> 
> “Is it just Glorfindel and Elladan we’re going to be meeting with?” Fileg asked genially. 
> 
> “I’m sorry, gwador, but it’s just me who is going to talk to Glorfindel and Elladan,” Thranduil explained apologetically, “For the sake of keeping Theli’s confidences, I think it is better done alone.” 
> 
> “Well enough,” Fileg conceded amiably, “I’m happy enough to bide my time waiting for you in any case. Part of my job. Besides, Elrohir will likely be unwilling to let his twin get too far away from him, so he’ll probably be about. Elrohir is usually good company. But do let me know if there’s anything that I can do to help you, or Theli.” 
> 
> “I will,” Thranduil affirmed, “and thank you.”

Thranduil and Fileg were welcomed into the quarters belonging to the elves of Imladris by a guard named Endaqueto, an old friend and age-mate of theirs from their visits to Imladris during the Second Age. 

The Imladrin guest quarters were larger and more personally decorated than the Greenwood apartments. Likely because the Imladris elves spent a great deal of time here in Minas Tirith, visiting Arwen and Aragorn and their family. 

Erestor and Melpomaen weren’t present in the common room, but Glorfindel and the twins greeted Thranduil and Fileg amiably, and with offers of more tea and pastries. Fileg took them up on that offer, while Thranduil, Elladan, and Glorfindel retired to the Balrog-Slayer’s newly mouse-free study. 

“What in the name of all the Belain happened in Khand?” Thranduil began bluntly. 

Glorfindel nodded towards Elladan, then took a seat himself in one of the five comfortable chairs in front of his lapis lazuli fireplace. 

Elladan elected to stand as he answered Thranduil’s question, “There is a limited amount which I can explain to you, Thranduil,” he began, his baritone voice grave and sad, “Theli and I made a deal, you see. He promised me two things. The first was to work with a mind-healer concerning . . . what happened . . . whenever I decide that he must. The second was never to play the role of a slave again. In exchange, I promised him never to tell anyone what happened to him that night unless he allowed it.” 

“Do better, Elladan,” Thranduil demanded icily, as he took the seat across from Glorfindel. 

Elladan went to lean on the casement of the closed window as he gravely answered, “Theli was badly hurt because I made a serious mistake. Daerada Celeborn was right, when he said last night that I should never have let any of us play the role of a slave. It just wasn’t safe enough.” 

“While that is true, Elladan,” Glorfindel said consideredly, “I doubt that you forced your comrades Theli, Cilben, Brand, or Eyvin to volunteer for such a role.” 

“Of course not, my Captain,” Elladan agreed, “But I was the leader. It was usually my decision, who would do what and go where. I allowed it. The information we got from the four of them playing slaves was valuable. If I had it to do again . . . I would not have made the same choices. At least not in that part of Khand.” 

Thranduil was about to say something caustic about the dangers of having Elladan’s friends and cousins playing slaves at all, or even being in Enemy lands at all. But Glorfindel’s piercing cobalt gaze stopped him. 

“Why not in that part of Khand, Elladan?” Glorfindel asked stolidly, “rather than not at all?” 

“Not at all . . .” Elladan began uncertainly, “Well, it we hadn’t done it at all, I’m not sure that we could have found out everything that we needed to know. The slaves were the lowest of the low – it didn’t matter what they overheard, or told eachother. They had no power of their own, therefore they were entrusted with secrets. Secrets that we needed, which helped us find out what we needed to know about the poisons we were trying to track down and find antidotes to. But in Rhun, where we were for our first mission, most slaves are given their freedom after fifteen years.” 

“Hence why slavery is rarer in Rhun,” agreed Thranduil, “And why slaves are generally not abused as badly.” 

“Yes,” Elladan confirmed, “after all, you don’t want to cruelly whip someone who, if he survives, is going to be able to come after you someday and challenge you to a duel. Him, or his son, or his son-by-law. And in Rhun, slaves loyally serving a family were excepted from many punishments which could be levied upon a slave. Their chastisements were instead left to the will and judgment of their own masters.” 

“That’s new, since I last met with the Easterlings,” Thranduil commented. Although the Easterlings had always had a code of honor of some sort, although mercy had never been a great part of it. More survival of the fittest. And they’d grown much worse during the time period when Sauron had left Dol Guldur and dwelled amongst them. 

“It was the case when we were there,” Elladan explained, “Although there were Chieftains who did not abide by it. Still, slaves were eventually made freed-men, even in the worst of the Rhunnic plains. Survival there on the great plains is so tenuous that they need the replacement population. They can’t afford to have child-bearing women and strong men be slaves for all of their lives. Survival of the fittest was their rule; even if the fittest were slaves.” 

“And your worst problem there was a Chieftain who wanted to buy Theli,” Thranduil criticized. 

Elladan sighed, and then ventured a faint smile, “Yes. Theli and I saved one of that Chieftain’s sons from a wound gone bad. I was a merchant, and not for the buying. But the Rhunnic Chieftain conceded that he would not be willing to part with a healer such as Theli if he didn’t need to, either, and allowed us to go on our way.” 

“It got worse in Rhun, the closer we got to Mordor,” Elladan continued grimly, “Everything got worse, including the treatment of slaves. We realized that it would be best to ‘free’ our slaves when we approached near Mordor, and have them serve as our guards instead.” 

“I’m glad that you had that much sense,” Thranduil remarked. 

“I am, as well,” Elladan affirmed somberly, “It was Adrahil’s idea, and everyone except Cilben, Brand, and Eyvin agreed. Theli, Adrahil, Orophin, Melpomaen, and I had already seen too much in our lives not to fear the appetites of Men directly influenced by Sauron.” 

“Then when we were in Far and Near Harad,” Elladan continued his report, “Mercy was considered a virtue, even in respect of slaves. Educated slaves were considered a valuable commodity. And the loyalty of old family slaves, and a slave owner’s right to correct such slaves himself, was generally respected. Again, this was so until one came within several days’ ride of Mordor’s borders. There, we made the same changes. We freed our ‘slaves,’ and promoted them to being additional guards.” 

“Umbar was different,” Elladan said, crossing his arms over his chest as if to brace himself, “The great slave markets were there. The risk was great . . . but so were the opportunities to gain information. Theli and Brand alone acted as slaves there. They had the maturity to be cursed careful with it, and we really did need the information. Theli did pretty well with that. Well, except for rescuing a pair of slave children at Adrahil’s instigation, which we really hadn’t needed the complication of, although it did end up being useful in the end, for what we got from the little boy’s parents.” 

“Did you?” Thranduil asked obdurately, ignoring the information about rescuing slaves as irrelevant for the moment, “‘Really need’ the information?” 

“I believed so then, and I still believe so now,” Elladan affirmed weightily, “The same reasons for it being relatively safe to have them play slaves in Near Harad were also in effect in Umbar. The Emir of Near Harad at the time was known to be relatively kind to his own slaves, despite him allowing Sauron’s servants in his court to barbarically mistreat their own wives, servants and slaves. And in Umbar City itself, educated slaves – like Theli as a healer, and Brand as a carpenter – were considered worth their weight in gold. It is against what passes as the religion of the Corsair Oligarchs of Umbar to waste gold.” 

“So what happened in Khand?” Thranduil persisted impatiently, “Mercy is a virtue there as well, if I recall from my own journeying throughout the great mountains and valleys of Khand during the Second Age, as an envoy of my father to the Dragon Emperor’s court.” 

“Mercy is a virtue in the Dragon Empire,” Elladan agreed conservatively, “Yet slaves were not permitted to be educated unless their masters paid a fee to the Emperor. Of the nine of Mithrandir’s agents, it was only Adrahil, Tarostar, Theli and I who traveled in Khand. Tarostar and Theli are capable of being careful, so we paid the fee, and they acted as our slaves. Of course, we were even more careful when we were in the west of Khand, hard by Mordor where the Variags who have historically served Sauron hold reign. But it wasn’t until we were in the far east of Khand, amidst the mountains called the Teeth of Power, that we ran into the trouble.” 

“The far east?” Glorfindel asked with a frown, “The far eastern reaches of Khand are very distant from Mordor. And likewise distant from any place where Saron has historically had an interest. Or at least, one which we have been aware of. We had thought such regions to be somewhat isolated from our old Enemy’s malevolent influence.” 

“So did we,” Elladan replied tightly, “And I’m not sure that we were wrong, about Sauron’s influence. But there was something there, Glorfindel. Something dark and cruel. We didn’t discover exactly what it was, at least I don’t think we did. But it was general knowledge that slaves and poor free men and women disappeared in the region, and that no one knew where they went. It had been happening since time beyond the Khandians’ memories.” 

“And you didn’t hurry up and ‘free’ Theli and . . . what was his name? Adrahil’s man. As soon as you were aware of this?” Thranduil demanded. 

“It was too late by then,” Elladan answered with great regret, “Travelers were not uncommon in the region. It was rather a meeting place of unscrupulous merchants, in fact. But newcomers, traders who had never been there before, WERE unusual. We had already established our bona fides and been noted. It was too late to ‘free’ our slaves; it wasn’t something which was done in the area anyway. Their ‘freedom’ might not have been respected. At least as our ‘property,’ they had some protection.” 

Elladan sighed raggedly, then continued, “We should have left that dangerous place when we first realized that something was wrong, but we hadn’t learned what we had come for. The night . . . the night it happened. Adrahil was finally sold a recipe, and a sample, of the main ingredient for an untraceable poison we had been searching for, one which almost inevitably led to a fatal sickening of the stomach. It was a ‘disease’ which had been killing many Men in Gondor.” 

“We were all relieved to have our task done,” Elladan related, his mind clearly on the past, “Maybe we didn’t hide our relief well . . . or maybe the Merchant Lord Yong-Min, the Man with the Ancient Eyes, just wanted Theli. It was hard to tell. But whatever the case, he demanded that we leave him Theli for the night.” 

Thranduil frowned. He drew a breath to ask who this Yong-Min, ‘the Man with the Ancient Eyes,’ even was, and whether he was the ‘Spirit-Stealer’ from Theli’s nightmare. The King managed to stop himself when Glorfindel silently warned him not to interrupt. Thranduil took another deep breath to soothe his own disquiet, but he didn’t interrupt Elladan. 

The younger twin elaborated in a heart-broken tone, “There was no way to deny the offer, not and maintain our covers. Either we were heartless Haradrim merchants who would happily sell a poison to the Haradrim Beys and Umbaran Oligarchs who were our customers, in which case we wouldn’t mind sharing one of our slaves with one of our new Khandian friends for a night. Or we weren’t who we said we were at all. Instead, we were men who cared about a slave enough to challenge the merchant lord who had enough power to order us all detained at a whim. It was leave Theli and plan to come back for him once night had fallen and their guard was down; or it was risk endangering all of our freedom, and dooming all of the men in Gondor who would die from that poison at the hand of agents of Sauron.” 

“Could you have fought your way out of it, and won?” Glorfindel inquired, his voice soft and bereft of any hint of judgment. Thranduil, who didn’t know if he could have asked as gently, simply nodded his concurrence with Glorfindel’s question. 

“No,” Elladan answered, not even trying to disguise his pain and self-disgust, “There were too many of them, perhaps fifty-five. More, if their slaves had been willing to fight for them. The fort had been hosting a minor convention of merchants and locals supplying slaves, weapons, and exotic goods. Most of the other merchants and their guards were well-armed. And there was little to no chance that their slaves would have fought for us. They were too cowed, at least all but a handful, who weren’t all the way broken yet. But those slaves were too few, and too weak, to have made a substantial contribution. Even if we could have stricken off their chains and armed them.” 

“Besides,” Elladan continued in much the same tone, but this time with hints of irritation and pride, “Theli would have forced Adrahil, Tarostar, and I to leave him behind for the night if I hadn’t agreed to do so. It was the first and only time he threatened to do that.” 

“Ecthelion can do that?” Glorfindel asked in the same neutral, faintly encouraging tone, “Compel?” 

To Thranduil, Glorfindel explained, “Elrond could do so, to some extent. But mostly he just used the ability to help patients fall asleep when he deemed that it was best for them.” Glorfindel glowered for a moment, and then added, “Including me amongst those patients, at times.” 

Thranduil, who remembered having had Elrond do the same to him, and who also remembered that Theli had mentioned not being willing to compel anyone who wasn’t an Enemy the night before, implying that he had the ability to do so, sympathetically tilted his head in Glorfindel’s direction. 

Elladan sighed, “The line between ‘hiding something’ and ‘compelling someone not to see it’ is thin. And, as I’m sure that you both know, in times of great extremity, even determined Men can pick up boulders far too heavy for them to sanely lift. They may break a bone, tear a muscle – but they can pick the boulder up and move it. In such a way, yes, Theli can and has compelled. With a weak-minded stranger, or one who was not scrutinizing us intently, it gave him a serious headache, but he could still ride and fight after. With a strong-minded Enemy servant, one natively possessing similar such abilities, or gifted them by the Enemy himself or one of his lieutenants, Theli can hide what he knows, and appear to be merely what he seems – a genial but slow-witted person who knows nothing of what the Enemy wishes to learn. With several Enemy servants who became too interested in our activities, he could and did compel them to direct their interest elsewhere, for long enough for us to get a head start.” 

“But after those incidents,” Elladan continued solemnly, “Theli was flat out unconscious for several days, and near useless for another week and a half. I did not want to see what condition my forcing him to compel us to leave him behind would put him in. And I didn’t want to gamble on how I would feel after he did it. I needed my wits about me, if we were to rescue him in the dark hours of the morning, before the Men at that fort were expecting our return.” 

“I can see the reason for such caution,” Glorfindel allowed, “What happened to Theli when you were forced by circumstances to leave him behind, Elladan-my- heart?” 

Elladan sighed again and turned his gaze back to the window as he slowly and softly began, “Some of it I know . . . because for some of the worst of it, Theli wasn’t . . . entirely in his own body. He reached out to me with his mind, which he had never done before. It hurts him, to speak mind-to-mind.” 

“I couldn’t physically keep him safe,” Elladan explained mournfully, “or do anything in that moment to help him. But I could . . . offer him my mind to wait in, in a way, while we waited for his body to be a less terrible place for him to go back in to. He was still aware of what was happening to him, he could still feel some of the pain, but he didn’t feel the full pain that he would have when he was entirely in his own body and mind, if that makes sense.” 

It didn’t make sense to Thanduil. And the thought that Theli had been so badly hurt that he’d dared the pain which mind speech always caused him was more than unsettling. 

Also beyond unsettling was that Glorfindel, who was normally imperturbable during a briefing, at least until he got to the yelling part, had taken an indrawn breath in what sounded like fear at Elladan’s last confession.

“Elladan, have you ever done such a thing before?” Glorfindel queried intensely, “Made room in your mind for someone else?” 

“Only Elrohir,” Elladan answered, his own blue-gray eyes wide with surprise at how concerned his mentor was, “and then Theli that one time. Elrohir and I have always been able to do that, since we were small, if one of us was heart-tired or hurting too much. I can’t remember a time when we couldn’t do so.” 

Glorfindel replied in a deadly serious tone, “As you have done it with your twin, it is probably safe. And under the circumstances, I can understand that you had to do everything that you could to help Ecthelion. But I want you to promise me, on your twin’s and your sister’s lives, that you will never do such a thing again, unless it is an absolutely dire situation. The two of you – you and Theli – are lucky that you managed to get his spirit back into his own body cleanly. The only other elves I know of who use such a technique are all highly ranking mind-healers in the Lorien gardens in the West. There is no one here on Middle Earth who can teach you to do this in a way which is truly safe. I don’t know as even Galadriel could have done it.” 

Still wide-eyed, Elladan nodded his understanding of that, and promised, “I swear, on my siblings’ lives, that I will never again share my mind with the spirit of another, unless someone’s life or sanity is at risk.” 

“Very well,” Glorfindel accepted, somewhat mollified, “Continue then.” 

Elladan nodded again, took a deep breath, and said, “It helped, having had Theli in my mind. I knew the lay out of the private quarters of that foul place. I knew which guards had reacted quickly to Theli’s escape attempts, and which had been taken by surprise. I knew which slaves had joined in tormenting my friend, and which had pitied him and tried to lessen his pain. In short, I knew who to kill first. But even more importantly, I knew what other orders the Man with the Ancient Eyes had given that night.”

“This ‘Man with the Ancient Eyes,’ Elladan,” Thranduil couldn’t help but interrupt, “is he the same as the man Theli calls ‘the Spirit Stealer?’”

“Yes,” Elladan confirmed solemnly, “And he’d ordered his servants and guards to go and slay an entire caravan of Khandians who had come to the mountainside town to search for their missing loved ones. I hated taking the time to divert from rescuing Theli in order to rescue strangers, but . . . I thought that it was worth the extra risk, if we could convince them to join us in attacking the fort.” 

“We were able to give the caravan warning,” Elladan continued gravely, “and to help some of them to kill their attackers and survive the slaughter which had been planned for them. In exchange for our gold and our protection – such as it was – they agreed to help us storm the fort where we had been forced by circumstances to leave our friend.” 

“We wasted no time in returning to the fort. From earlier in the day, we knew where the sentries and the common rooms were. From Theli’s memories, I knew the lay-out of the private areas of the fort, including where Theli was, and approximately who was with him. We were lucky. We took them by surprise. And we killed every single one of them, except the slaves. Of the other merchants, the guards, and the servants, there were many whom we could not leave alive and consider ourselves good elves and Men with them still breathing. Some of the others just got in the way, or were likely to sound the alarm as soon as we left. I couldn’t risk that happening.” 

Elladan took a deep breath, and then added, “Of the slaves . . . most of them took their own lives before we could stop them. The others refused to leave. They feared their own master, the Man with the Ancient Eyes, more than they feared us. That foul being and several of his most trusted guards and servants departed before we arrived, and so they lived.” 

“The few slaves whose spirits weren’t broken we took with us when we left with the survivors of the caravan,” Elladan elaborated, with his mind seemingly still focused on the past, “The Khandians who had come in that caravan had decided to forsake their own missing because they had homes and families to go back to who relied on them. They were from further south than the Teeth of Power mountain range. Their own Dragon Prince had had his own difficulties with his cruel neighbors to the north, and so he pledged to protect them, and us. Our new allies freed the slaves from the fort – they needed men and women to replace the ones who had gone north to seek work and never returned.” 

“Elladan-my-Lieutenant,” Glorfindel interrupted calmly, “Who was ‘the Man with Ancient Eyes,’ or the ‘Spirit-Stealer,’ as Ecthelion names him?” 

“He was the powerful merchant and minor lord who owned and ran the fort,” Elladan answered, his gray eyes flashing with long-suppressed fury, “His name was Yong-Min. He was the one who demanded Theli for the night, as his host-gift. He seemed like a normal man to me at first, if an intent and cruel one. But when he was alone with Theli and his minions . . . he showed a different side of himself. Theli saw it, and I saw it through his eyes, so I know that Theli was not exaggerating out of fear or pain. The man had ancient eyes. When he bent his will upon Theli, the weight of millennia was present. As if he were an ancient elf, or an ancient servant of the Enemy. There was something of the Enemy about him . . . but he did not seem to be anyone’s servant. His will seemed to Theli to be entirely his own. He figured out that Theli was an elf, and an elf with some mind powers, although he did not bother to inform any of his servants or . . . for lack of a better word, his friends. He wanted to own and control Theli, not just his body but his mind and his spirit. He bent himself to breaking Theli’s mind.” 

“Theli had felt and survived efforts that were similar in effect if not intent twice in his past,” Elladan explained, pain and anger in his expression as he recalled his friend’s torment, “Once, when he was taken captive with my twin during Thranduil’s expedition to cause a distraction by assaulting Dol Guldur at the end of the Watchful Peace. And again, even longer ago, as his grandfather’s unwilling student, while that-troll-brain-Eldun, or Elurin, I suppose, tried to make Theli learn what to do with his mind gifts before he was old enough to learn, or even understand what he was supposed to be learning.” 

“Whatever his name, Theli’s grandfather was a cruel elf,” Thranduil gently agreed, rather wishing that there had been some way to force Eldun – Elurin - to pay for the wrongs he’d committed against his family. 

“Indeed,” Glorfindel put in, and Thranduil rather thought from the fierce gleam in the Balrog-Slayer’s cobalt eyes that he felt similarly about the matter, although all Glorfindel did next was to ask Elladan, “This Man with the Ancient Eyes. He was not an elf?” 

“He certainly didn’t look like one. Theli thought that he was not an elf,” Elladan answered pensively, “And Theli saw more of that monster than any of the rest of us did. The Man couldn’t force Theli to stop fighting him. In part because Theli had already lived through those past experiences and learned from them. In part also because some of Theli was in my mind, where no one was hurting him. And in part,” Elladan added with a quirk of a smile, “because Theli is just a stubborn bastard.” 

“Don’t call him that,” Thranduil commanded, even though that was technically what Theli had been after Elurin and his birth family had disowned him. ‘Erynion,’ or ‘forest-son,’ was the father-name that Theli had used until last night. It was the name used by elves in the Greenwood who had no parents or family to claim them. ‘A child of the forest’ was the polite term for such elves. ‘Bastard’ was a much less polite term. 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Elladan protested. 

“I know you didn’t,” Thranduil allowed, “But I don’t want people to call him that. Even when the only name he had claim to was Erynion, I still didn’t let anyone call him that when I could stop it.” 

Elladan nodded in recognition of that, and also, Thranduil thought, in approval, before continuing, “The Man with the Ancient Eyes couldn’t break Theli. But he thought that if he had different drugs, more powerful ones, that he might be able to succeed. So he and his most loyal servant left to obtain the materials he thought that he needed, in order to take Theli over from within.” 

“They left in the middle of the night?” Glorfindel inquired, his voice still calmly compelling yet also vaguely reassuring. It was his ‘taking a report’ voice. 

“Yes. The Man with the Ancient Eyes was very excited about the possibility of, um, well, this part is all based on what Theli thought. And it doesn’t make much sense.” 

“Tell us anyway,” Glorfindel commanded. 

“Theli thought that the Man was very eager to, um, control not just Theli’s mind, and own his body as in make Theli his own slave, but actually to take over Theli’s physical body, which is why Theli calls him ‘the Spirit Stealer.’ Of course, so far as I know, such a thing isn’t even possible,” Elladan explained tentatively, “They had given Theli a number of drugs, some of which I recognized from being in his body with him, some of which I’ve learned of since then, and some of which I still can’t tell what they were. What I mean to say is, Theli might have been wrong in thinking that. Not that he made a false report to me, but that he just didn’t know what had been happening towards the end. However, the people in the neighboring Khandian principality we fled to for protection, they recognized some of the drugs he’d been given, enough that we were able to treat Theli.” 

Thranduil made a mental apology to Theli for betraying his confidence, but nonetheless asked, “Theli implied that Orophin had taught him something dangerous in order to help Theli protect himself against something similar happening to him again. What do you know of this?” 

“There are ways to break your own mind, even to interrupt your own ability to breathe,” Elladan explained sombrely, “Galadriel taught them to Orophin, after he and Theli were tortured by orcs just after the end of the Watchful Peace. Orophin taught them to Theli, after our trip to Khand. I don’t believe that Theli had to explain to Orophin why he wanted to learn in any detail. Theli didn’t want to say, and Orophin didn’t make him.” 

“But your Uncle Orophin knows that something happened in Khand,” Glorfindel concluded, “While my great-grandson Melpomaen does not.” 

“Yes.” 

“Elladan,” Thranduil asked, his own anger with Elrond’s younger son abated by Elladan’s obvious guilt and self-blame over all of this, “What did the Man with Ancient Eyes do to Theli? I won’t tell anyone else, except Theli’s mind-healers in the Greenwood. But I do need to know, in order to help him, and to make sure that he gets the support that he needs.” 

“I won’t give you any details, cousin Thranduil,” Elladan replied, his voice strained with that same guilt and anger, but nonetheless resolute, “Theli has held up his end of our agreement; I have to hold up mine.” 

“Elladan . . .” Thranduil began to reprimand, finding that his ire over the peredhel’s actions had not entirely abated after all. 

“You may as well save yourself the breath, Thranduil,” Glorfindel interrupted, clearly disapproving of Elladan’s refusal but nonetheless resigned to it, “You’ll get nothing else from him.” 

Silently, Glorfindel amended, *at least without surprising him into it.*

Elladan, who had relaxed at Glorfindel’s acceptance of his position, was looking at his mentor in relief. 

Glorfindel began to summarize Elladan’s report, “So, the far east of Khand ‘felt’ like the Dark Lord had deep influence there, but not in the way that you and the others had become accustomed to Sauron’s influence ‘feeling.’” 

“That’s accurate,” Elladan confirmed. 

“And this Man with the Ancient Eyes. He had similar power to a minor lieutenant of Sauron’s, but he did not seem to be beholden to our ancient Enemy.” 

“Yes,” Elladan agreed, “But there was something similar about his power nonetheless. Maybe it was just that he – and his mind – felt wrong. Theli had trouble describing it, besides ‘awful, manipulative, and entitled.’ And I must confess that I can’t do much better.” 

“I’m sure that you both did your best,” Glorfindel told Elladan matter-of-factly but with a faint hint of pride, “And it is worthwhile to us, as the allied lands of Elves, Men and Dwarves, to know that something so foul and so dangerous may well still exist in far eastern Khand.” 

“If this Man with the Ancient Eyes was human,” Thranduil put in matter-of-factly, “then he’s likely dead.” 

“I don’t think that we can count on that,” Elladan replied worriedly, “Theli was right, in that the Man with the Ancient Eyes felt ‘old.’ Based on what Theli heard and saw, that Man REMEMBERED elves, Thranduil. Elves who were simply clad and unarmed. When was the last time that anyone from so far East in Khand had seen sylvan elves traveling outside of your Wood or Lothlorien, without armed escort?” 

Thranduil sighed and had to concede, “That is concerning.” 

“Gondor’s spy network is beginning to gain contacts and safe routes through Khand,” Glorfindel said thoughtfully, “We can explain this to them, while putting the information in such terms as to imply that it is information which the Man with the Ancient Eyes shared with both you and Ecthelion, as a merchant whom he was trying to cultivate and that merchant’s slave.” 

“That is what I was planning to do, yes,” Elladan agreed, then asked hopefully, “You’ll help?” 

Glorfindel turned his gaze to Thranduil and raised an inquiring eyebrow. 

Thranduil nodded. The King hadn’t given up on getting more out of Elladan as to what specific harms had been done to Theli. But he agreed that the only intelligence which needed to be shared with the rulers of the allied lands was that which had the potential to affect the future course of events, not that which pertained specifically to Theli.

“We will help,” Glorfindel assured Elladan, “But I do wish to confirm my understanding as to several other points in your account. First, do you think that the ruler of the neighboring Khandian principality might be a potential ally?” 

“Unfortunately, that Dragon Prince was human, so he likely is dead,” Elladan answered unhappily, “But he had many sons, most of whom seemed similarly minded. If the Two Kingdoms’ spies have an opportunity to go so far afield, it might be worth attempting to make allies there, or at least contacts.” 

“That, as well, we can convey, to the other rulers, today and at follow-up meetings,” Glorfindel replied, before asking, “What did the Man with the Ancient Eyes look like?” 

“A typical Khandian aristocrat of that north and east region,” Elladan answered, “Skin middling-dark, angular features, and eyes so brown that they were nearly black. He was tall for a Khandian. He looked like he had once been a warrior, but as if he’d since let himself run to fat. He had put a great deal of effort into concealing that fact. Expertly tailored clothes, face paints to hide the incipient double-chin, that kind of thing. He moved spryly enough, but his lack of current martial skill was a weakness which I noted at the time.” 

“I see. And the name he gave you was ‘Yong-Min’?” 

“Yes. Adrahil asked some of his people to research the meaning of his name, in Khandian. According to them, Yong-Min works out to roughly mean something along the lines of ‘eternal man’ or ‘eternal person.’” 

“Which would be consistent with your and Ecthelion’s impression of great age. Was his accent also typical to that region of Khand?” Glorfindel asked, steady and calm, still a commander taking a report from a trusted lieutenant. 

“Yes, although he also spoke perfect Haradrim, and inserted occasional words which Adrahil thought were odd for a Khandian to know, even a merchant,” Elladan replied. 

Out of Elladan’s eye sight, one of Glorfindel’s hands subtly signaled to Thranduil to be patient. 

The Balrog-Slayer continued his questions, first asking how the Man with the Ancient Eyes had treated his allies as opposed to his slaves, then making his questions steadily easier to answer (albeit still relevant). He asked about the lay-out of the fortress, the other merchants who had been staying there, the food eaten by the Man with the Ancient Eyes and his servants, and what that Man had been wearing. 

After Elladan had stopped needing to truly think before answering Glorfindel’s queries, the Balrog-Slayer asked in the same bland, mildly encouraging tone, “You said that the Man with the Ancient Eyes beat and tortured his own slaves, both men and women, and most particularly so those who were not yet in their hearts truly in his thrall. Did he also rape them?” 

“Yes,” Elladan affirmed with great sorrow and quiet anger, shaken out of the routine of normal question and answer, “He didn’t tell us that though. We learned from the survivors, after. And we also learned that the Man with Ancient Eyes, like some others amongst the worst of the slave owners, had been poisoning his slaves every day. A poison which didn’t hurt them at all as long as they were dosed on time . . . but if they weren’t, or if the dosage was reduced too suddenly, then death would come quickly and painfully. We took most of his supply of that poison with us. The healers from the other principality knew how to reduce the dose safely, so that the former slaves whom we had helped to rescue would suffer no unavoidable ill effects.” 

With Elladan shaken by that recollection but still lulled into the false belief that Glorfindel had let the matter of what happened to Theli go, Glorfindel calmly asked, “Did the Man with the Ancient Eyes use these torments upon Theli? In his attempts to break him?” 

Elladan began to answer this question as completely as he had the others, before stopping himself and denying reproachfully, “I will not answer that question, Captain. I already told you that I won’t.” 

“And you have kept your word to Ecthelion, Elladan-my-heart,” Glorfindel told his beloved student bluntly and proudly but gently, “You did not through your own will answer that question. He would not ask you for more than that.” 

“Get out of my mind!” Elladan snarled, having deducted, apparently correctly, that Glorfindel had gradually extended his own abilities to ‘read’ what was in the privacy of Elladan’s own thoughts. Then Elrond’s second son turned his back to Glorfindel and went over to stand beside the far window, facing away from Glorfindel and Thranduil both. 

To Thranduil, Glorfindel related with profound sorrow and controlled but terrible anger, “The answer to my last question was ‘yes.’ We’ll have to talk with your mind healers, about what Ecthelion will need.” 

For Thranduil’s benefit only, Glorfindel silently added, *And Elladan will need assistance as well. I saw what he had seen, after I asked him that question. He saw and heard some of what Theli went through. Enough for it to scar him, although not as deeply as his own guilt over the harm Theli endured while under his command.* 

Knowing that Elladan had suffered too kept Thranduil from taking out his considerable ire at the horrible abuse suffered by Theli on Elladan. It was a close thing, but Thranduil responded to that information only with a tight nod. 

Glorfindel responded with a silent rush of relief and pride at Thranduil’s control, while aloud he said only, “There are several healers experienced with regard to such matters in Mithlond.” 

Thranduil still wasn’t sure that he could speak without saying something that he might regret, so he merely tilted his head in agreement. 

Elladan cursed fervently under his breath, then said tightly, “What you both must understand is that Theli has already seen a good mind healer. What happened in Khand doesn’t normally trouble him. Bringing it up with another mind healer could do more harm than good.” 

“But having his mind healers at his home in the Greenwood be AWARE of it can only help him, Elladan,” Thranduil pointed out in a strained tone of voice, although he did his best not to seem as if he were apportioning any of the blame for the incident to the younger son of Elrond. It was evident enough that Elladan already blamed himself for what had happened. 

“I know that you are trying to do what is best for Theli, Thranduil, but so am I,” Elladan replied, looking to Thranduil with his heather gray eyes intent and pleading, “Theli is my cousin and my friend, too. Those other healers who already know him, their anger and hurt will be more guilt for Theli to bear. That’s not fair for him. Please at least give it some time, and see how he does.” 

After a deep indrawn breath, Thranduil turned to Glorfindel, “What do you think?” 

“Are you going to be keeping a close eye on Theli, in the Greenwood?” the Balrog-Slayer asked, as if he’d already thought the matter over. 

“Yes,” Thranduil answered, “Certainly I will be, for a time. And I will make sure to pay closer attention to what Theli gets up to, in general.” 

“As you appear to be asking for my opinion, Thranduil,” Glorfindel replied with calm authority leavened by respect, “I will tell you that I believe Elladan to be right, unless the nightmares and flashbacks reoccur, or Theli suffers from other disturbances. But you should do as you think best. I trust your judgement, in this, and I will support you however I can. If this knowledge and the responsibility weighs on your spirit, you may always come to me, or reach out by letter. And if is too much for you to bear alone, I am quite sure that Theli would want you to unburden yourself to someone.” 

With a heartfelt sigh, Thranduil confessed to Glorfindel, “That someone would normally be Nestorion. Finding out that such horrible things have happened to Theli would be very hard for him.” 

“You are likely correct about that,” Glorfindel conceded in an understanding and gentle manner, “Perhaps you could talk to your General Rochendil? He knows you well, and he knows Master Healer Nestorion far better than I. 

“Perhaps,” Thranduil agreed. He sighed yet again, then returned his attention to Elladan. 

“I know that you did your best for Theli, Elladan,” Thranduil said quietly but sincerely, “The mind healer in Dol Amroth must have been very good.” 

“He was,” Elladan agreed somberly. 

“It was, on balance, a good bargain that you made with Ecthelion,” Glorfindel told Elladan straightforwardly but affectionately. 

“One that you made me betray,” Elladan countered, his eyes flashing with anger again as he added, “Other than the intelligence ramifications, Captain, I’m not speaking to you at the moment.” 

Glorfindel merely nodded to that. 

Thranduil could not help but huff in appalled surprise and remark, “Mature of you, Elladan. And what are you going to tell Theli, about why you’re inflicting this childish punishment on your mentor?”

“Something honest,” Elladan retorted, “That Glorfindel and I are arguing about whether I was right not to tell anyone in authority what we were doing.” 

“Oh, dear Eru, you can’t even see that you were wrong in that, Elladan?” Thranduil exclaimed, dismayed and disappointed, “Even Theli understands that much, now that we’ve gone over it with him!” 

Looking to Glorfindel, Thranduil complained, “Didn’t you talk to this young fool at all between yesterday evening and now? Have you lost your touch?” 

“Elladan and I have reached . . . an impasse, of sorts, regarding what he should have reported and when,” Glorfindel answered more thoughtfully than Thranduil had expected. It was enough to silence him, at least for the moment. 

“However, Elladan,” Glorfindel said sternly, “You are not only still my lieutenant. You are also an elf whom I love like a grandson. I promised your father that I would look after you as such, before he sailed. Whether you are on speaking terms with me or not, you are still beholden to do as I command. And just now I am ordering you to rest, as we discussed prior to Thranduil’s visit.” 

Elladan smiled pleasantly, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Then he turned on his heel and left Glorfindel’s study, slamming the door behind him.


	29. Missing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel shares several confidences with Thranduil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 3: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes chapter 29: 
> 
> “Sometimes it’s not the strength but gentleness that cracks the hardest shells.” – Richard Paul Evans  
> “Moderation is the inseparable companion of wisdom, but with it genius has not even a nodding acquaintance.” - Charles Caleb Colton 
> 
> “Often and often afterwards, the beloved Aunt would ask me why I had never told anyone how I was being treated. Children tell little more than animals, for what comes to them they accept as eternally established.” -Rudyard Kipling 
> 
> “It's the children the world almost breaks who grow up to save it.” ― Frank Warren
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 28: 
> 
> “However, Elladan,” Glorfindel said sternly, “You are not only still my lieutenant. You are also an elf whom I love like a grandson. I promised your father that I would look after you as such, before he sailed. Whether you are on speaking terms with me or not, you are still beholden to do as I command. And just now I am ordering you to rest, as we discussed prior to Thranduil’s visit.” 
> 
> Elladan smiled pleasantly, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Then he turned on his heel and left Glorfindel’s study, slamming the door behind him.

Glorfindel merely sighed and sat back in his chair. 

The Balrog-slayer appeared tired, which almost frightened Thranduil. He had seen Glorfindel fierce, angry, exasperated, bland, solemn, amused, and even – rarely - proud or tender. But Thranduil could never remember having seen him tired before. Thranduil hadn’t even realized that the Balrog-Slayer could BE tired. Or that Glorfindel would ever let Thranduil see it, if he was. And he could not believe that Glorfindel would let fairly clear intransigence from one of his charges go without a word. 

“Have you had an abrupt change of personality which no one bothered to inform me of?” Thranduil asked the Balrog-Slayer disbelievingly. 

Glorfindel chuckled tiredly, “No, Thranduil. But with Elladan, I have to pick my battles. I’ll give it five minutes. If what I expect to happen does not come to be, then I’ll have to excuse myself to go help Elrohir and Melpomaen deal with my darling, too-clever, too-stubborn idiot of a grandson.” 

Thranduil regarded the ancient elf searchingly, even as he half-inquired, half-accused, “You were never so lenient with me.” 

“You think not?” Glorfindel asked, a smile glinting in his cobalt blue eyes, “Who do you think backed Elrond, when he convinced Elendil and Isildur to claim that they would view it as a slur if the Greenwood’s heir were sent home, after your own most stunning display of reckless idiocy during the War of the Last Alliance?” 

“Based on the hours I spent bent over your sand table getting my ears blistered every time I gave you an ill-considered answer,” Thranduil said sardonically but with a small hint of lingering resentment, “I never would have thought that it was you.” 

“Well, did you learn?” 

“Yes,” Thranduil had to admit, “But at first mostly just because I didn’t want to get sent home. It was quite a while before I realized any of what you were actually trying to teach me, about risk versus reward.” 

“It was eighteen hours,” Glorfindel corrected tolerantly, “In actual time we spent together. Or two weeks and three days, in linear time.” 

“You noticed?” 

“Of course I did.” 

“Well, it certainly didn’t make you go any easier on me,” Thranduil accused. 

“Because you had Elrond and your father and a half a dozen other elves to ‘go easier’ on you, Thranduil, once they were done processing the first of their fear-born anger,” Glorfindel pointed out, his gaze unaccustomedly soft and fond, “Leniency wasn’t what you needed from me. And I praised you, did I not, when you answered well? Even before you were through with wasting both of our time.” 

“You did,” Thranduil had to concede. Praise from the Balrog-Slayer had always been rare, so Thranduil had prized it all the more. Glorfindel had also softened his peremptory and demanding manner with Thranduil on days when the then-prince had been particularly unhappy. Not that Thranduil had noticed it at the time, of course. 

“All Elladan has right now is me,” Glorfindel explained equably, “Erestor often plays the role of the sympathetic one, between the two of us. But just now, he is more angry with Elladan than I am, given Melpomaen’s involvement.” 

“Still, I cannot believe that you . . .” Thranduil began, only to break off when he heard the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. 

Glorfindel nodded to Thranduil, then called out loudly enough to be heard through the door, “Come.” 

As he spoke, the Balrog-Slayer also straightened, and somehow put the fire back in his eyes and the quiet energy back in his frame. He didn’t look tired anymore. It was a remarkable transformation. 

Rather to Thranduil’s surprise, the elf at the door wasn’t Elladan come to apologize, but rather Elrohir, holding a glass that was foaming in a way which Thranduil did not trust. With an apologetic, harried expression which was very much unlike him, the elder twin son of Elrond nodded to his mentor and Thranduil, and then said, “Glorfindel, I’m sorry, but . . .” 

“Tell me.” 

Elrohir sighed, “Elladan says that he will do as you wish. But only if you drink this.” 

“Give it to me. I’ll drink it. Tell him that. And make sure that he holds up his end of the bargain.” 

Elrohir handed over the beverage, but he was scrutinizing Glorfindel worriedly as he did so. Apparently Thranduil was not alone in thinking that something was off. 

“It is fine, my heart,” Glorfindel reassured Elrond’s heir, “Your twin is trying to reassert some control over the situation. I know that he would never harm me. I can give him this. Go on now, and take good care of him for me. You are the only one who can help him now. He didn’t ask for your help before, but he needs it now.” 

Elrohir left. Glorfindel considered the now-only-bubbling glass with a dubious expression, then drank half of it in one go. 

“You’re a braver elf than I,” Thranduil half-admired, half-teased. 

Glorfindel huffed in amusement, “I’ve left the other half for you, Thranduil-my-heart.” 

Thranduil blinked in surprise, because Glorfindel had never used that endearment for anyone outside of his and Elrond’s immediate family. At least not that Thranduil had ever heard. Still . . . 

“What in Eru’s name makes you think that I would drink something which not two minutes ago was boiling like a sulphur pit?” Thranduil asked, wondering if Glorfindel truly had gone daft. 

“It’s an energy-draught, sun-for-brains,” Glorfindel retorted, using a genially derogative term for blondes which at the least caught Thranduil’s attention. 

“You need it more than I do, then,” Thranduil parried back, “You’re the one who seems tired.” 

“I’m sorry, my student. I shouldn’t have put the burden of my exhaustion upon you,” Glorfindel apologized, “But that does not change that I think it would be wise for you to drink the rest of this. It is your decision. But I recognize this drink as being one of Elrond’s favorite choices for reviving him and steadying his emotions before an important meeting.” 

“I don’t mind that you look tired,” Thranduil allowed, accepting the drink at least to observe it more closely, “I’ve just never seen you seem tired before.” 

Glorfindel chuckled, “Oh, I’ve been tired before, my dear student. It most often happens when I realize that I’ve missed things that I should not have missed. I was very tired when I realized what you had been up to, during the War of the Last Alliance. I was tired when I realized that I’d sent my son Arandil and my daughter-by-law Elain to serve as Ereinion’s and Elrond’s ambassadors in the Pelennor without having also sent them with a guard who could successfully curb Arandil’s tendency towards excessive risk-taking. And I was tired yet again, when I realized that you and my idiot grandsons-of-the-heart had gone off after a pack of wargs with an insufficient escort, during the first half of the Third Age.” 

“Well, you hid it well, both times,” Thranduil said tartly. He took a tentative sip of the draught. When he found that it tasted of cream, coffee, and chocolate, he took another sip, before complaining, “Both of those times, with me, I had thought that you were just furious. Although you let me off, the second time. At least for about a week.” 

“Your son Thalion had been hurt. And you had more elves to answer to than just me, once he was safe again. I did make sure that you knew that I disapproved. Not because I was angry with what you’d done, although I was. I’m angry with what Elladan did, too. But what you needed then was a reminder to take into account your vast knowledge of forest-combat strategies, which actually exceeded my own, even then. And what Elladan needs now is someone to be patient with him, despite the mistakes which he has made. And despite how angry with he is, mostly with himself.” 

“I suppose that I can understand that,” Thranduil ventured, having finished most of the drink without even noticing it, “I just thought that you wouldn’t have let him stomp out of the room like that without reining him in.” 

“I’d just violated the privacy of his mind, Thranduil,” Glorfindel pointed out, “On top of my having contributed to this whole disaster of them-going-into-Enemy-lands by having missed some fairly significant matters.” 

“Their choices were their own, Glorfindel,” Thranduil found himself in the odd position of reassuring the Balrog-Slayer. 

“That isn’t what I’m speaking of right now, Thranduil,” Glorfindel replied, with a patient, profoundly regretful expression on his face, “I’m speaking of the impasse which Elladan and I reached last night.” 

“I’m surprised that you of all people ran into an argument about this which gave you pause,” Thranduil said critically, “You who were the one who taught me the benefits of cooperating with my fellow officers and my allies, instead of going off and engaging in a reckless solo endeavor, no matter how successful it had here-to-fore been.” 

Glorfindel’s eyes were unaccustomedly pensive as he inquired of Thranduil, “If Elladan had told me what the four of them and their human companions were off doing on Mithrandir’s behalf, what are the odds that the matter would have been broached at a meeting of the White Council?” 

“Most matters affecting all of our realms were,” Thranduil had to concede, before he came to the realization, “Saruman. He was the leader of the White Council. Curse it all.” 

It was Thranduil’s turn to stomp over to the window as he thought that over. 

“I missed,” Glorfindel confessed quietly, “that Saruman had turned traitor. Secure in my faith and my trust in the Valar and Maiar whom I had known in Aman, I forgot that Morgoth was a Vala, once. And that Sauron was amongst the most powerful of the Maiar. Middle Earth paid a great price for my failure of insight. As did you, Thranduil-my-heart. And for that I am more sorry than I can ever say.” 

Thranduil closed his eyes, fighting tears. He still believed that Saruman had orchestrated the ambush in which Thranduil’s wife and three of his children had been killed. He’d never trusted Saruman, even before that, but all he’d had to go on was a gut feeling. And then, after the slaughter, that same gut-feeling, plus an ambiguous bloodstain on his dead wife’s dress. A blood-stain which even Thranduil had to admit might have been just a splatter, and not a rough drawing by his wife of a stick and a frog, representing Minaethiel’s having used some of the last of her energy to try to warn her husband of a wizard’s treachery. 

The thought of how his wife and children might have lived if Thranduil had only been able to convince Glorfindel, Celeborn, and Elrond that there was reason to distrust Saruman was overwhelming. Thranduil could have saved their lives, could have had them with him and Legolas and Thalion, for all of this time. Galadriel had agreed with Thranduil, but she’d never been able to give a concrete reason, nothing beyond her own intuition. 

As if reading Thranduil’s thoughts, Glorfindel confided sadly, “After the first elf Galadriel mistrusted without a clear reason was Feanor, perhaps we should have listened to her. And your own judgement had proven quite reliable by the end of the Watchful Peace, despite your relative youth.” 

“Not reliable enough,” Thranduil gasped, “Not enough for you to believe me.” 

He couldn’t stop the tears then. Not when all he’d have had to do, to save Minaethiel, Thandrin, Eryntheliel, Lithidhren, and all the others, was to have said and done the right things to make his elders listen! What good was being a King, if he couldn’t save his own family, curse it all! 

Glorfindel’s strong arms turned Thranduil away from the window, and gently but firmly pulled him to rest against the Balrog-Slayer’s shoulders as he sobbed. Glorfindel’s guilt and his long-standing mentorship of Thranduil made it possible for the King to accept the comfort, and to realize how very much he’d needed to hear someone say that they were sorry not to have listened to him. That they were sorry, for what had happened, because they hadn’t listened to Thranduil. Elrond hadn’t had time to say it, before he’d sailed. And Celeborn, preoccupied by the sailing of his wife and the birth of his new grandchildren, had yet to say it either. 

Thranduil was not sure how much time passed, while they stood there. Glorfindel did not let him go until after Thranduil’s storm of weeping had finally passed, and the King stepped away on his own. 

Glorfindel handed him a handkerchief. Then he gave Thranduil a moment to himself while the Balrog-Slayer went to the side table and poured a red liquid out of a metal pitcher and into a mug. When Thranduil had reasserted control over himself, Glorfindel handed him the mug. 

“Some new variant of Miruvor?” Thranduil asked huskily. 

“No, my heart. I know that, while you like Miruvor before a patrol, you also feel that it makes you too jittery to sit through a briefing. This is iced strawberry juice mixed with green tea.”

Thranduil tentatively tried a sip, then drank more when he found it to be refreshing. After he had his breath and his voice back, Thranduil said bleakly, “We all knew that there was a leak somewhere on the White Council, Glorfindel. Too many of our plans came undone at too many strategically terrible times for there NOT to have been a leak. Statistically, yes, it was more likely to have been one of the Kings of Men, or one of the Dwarven rulers. But why didn’t you listen to me? Or to Galadriel? Both of us raised at more than one time that it might have been Saruman who was to blame.” 

“I made a mistake,” Glorfindel repeated, once again profoundly apologetic, “and untold thousands of beings, including you and yours, suffered terribly for it. Why didn’t I realize? There are not reasons sufficient to excuse my lapse, Thranduil. I can tell you that I have been accustomed to having to remind Galadriel that males who insult her capabilities are not her enemies since before the sun rose, although in those days it was more her brothers and my lord Turgon doing that job. I can tell you that you had taken against others before without due cause. Isildur, for instance . . .”

“Isildur betrayed us all,” Thranduil pointed out, his voice still hoarse from tears. 

“But even before that, you did not like him, and you did not like to share intelligence with him,” Glorfindel pointed out patiently, “And, had the ring never fallen into his hands, Isildur might have died a good man. Saruman had criticized you unfairly, as he had likewise criticized Galadriel, and even Elladan. We – Elrond and I - understood why the three of you would not like or trust Saruman. But I - we – did not realize the extent of the damage that we were doing to our own cause, by not giving your words heed.” 

“Not long after the end of the Watchful Peace, and too late, alas, for Minaethiel and your elflings,” Glorfindel continued quietly, “Galadriel had almost convinced Elrond to stand with her, and begin testing Saruman’s loyalty to us by feeding him carefully selected false information. Erestor and I counseled Elrond against it; we did not believe that a Maia sent to aid us by the Valar themselves could – or would – turn against us. We feared alienating a powerful – and temperamental – ally.” 

“What did cousin Celeborn say?” Thranduil asked, moving past his initial grief and anger, and now wanting to understand all of what had happened. 

Glorfindel gave him a wry half-smile and answered, “To the best of my knowledge, Galadriel never told her husband about it. She knew by then that she and her husband would not agree on the matter. Celeborn, too, held great respect in his heart for the Valar and Maiar. Galadriel also knew that the gambit could not have succeeded without Elrond’s assistance. Saruman distrusted her; information from her, information from Lothlorien, he might have hesitated to act on. Likewise so, with information from you. Information from Elrond, he would have had no reason to mistrust.” 

Thranduil couldn’t think of anything to say to that. So instead he asked, “Distrust of Saruman was why Elladan didn’t tell you about the errands into Enemy Lands that they were running on Mithrandir’s behest?” How strange, for Thranduil to find himself in sympathy with Elladan. 

“Along with the reasons that Elladan gave last night, yes,” Glorfindel confirmed, “But Elladan did agree with you, and with Galadriel. Our trust of Saruman is one of the reasons why he kept all of this from his father, from Erestor, and from me. Elladan has not explained the entirety of his reasoning to Orophin, Melpomaen, or Theli. Orophin might have agreed, being his mother’s son and student, but Melpomaen shared his father’s and my own opinion that Elladan was unfairly prejudiced against Saruman due to Saruman’s own criticisms of Elladan in front of Elladan’s mentor, Lord Ingloren.” 

“Why didn’t Elladan tell me, then?” Thranduil asked exasperatedly, “I would have been sympathetic to his reasons for keeping the news of what they were doing, and why, from Saruman.” 

“You should tell him that, then,” Glorfindel encouraged somberly, “I told him that I thought it might be so. But I could not speak for you.” 

“And my council might have agreed with you and Elrond and Celeborn and the human kingdoms, who likewise supported Saruman as head of the White Council,” Thranduil allowed with a sigh, “I don’t know what would have happened, in the end.” 

“Nor do I.” 

“You wanted to tell me this before the larger briefing, didn’t you?” Thranduil realized, with a pang of gratitude that Glorfindel had spared him having to hide his sorrow from a crowd. 

“Yes,” Glorfindel admitted, “in part because I wanted to apologize to you myself. I have convinced Elladan not to raise the matter of Saruman during today’s briefing, but I cannot be sure that it will not still somehow come up during the discussion of the intelligence which he and the others gathered while about their errands.” 

“You don’t want Elladan to bring up Saruman, because you don’t want Orophin, Melpomaen, or Theli to question whether they made a mistake or not,” Thranduil theorized, “You only want them to realize what could have gone badly wrong with them acting on their own. And how much more likely they would have been to succeed and live to tell the tale with aid from their respective lords. And lady, in Orophin’s case.” 

“Yes. Do you disagree? I am willing to hear you out, if you do.” 

Thranduil thought that over, then at length decided, “I don’t disagree. I’m quite fond of Theli, but I doubt that he is politically aware enough to realize what might have happened, had Saruman known what they were doing. Orophin and Melpomaen may be, however.” 

“Orophin had already decided that if they were to go to anyone, it would have been you,” Glorfindel explained, “and he knew very well how you felt about Saruman. I doubt that this reason for their silence would have occurred to him.” 

Although Thranduil was pleased by that sign of Orophin’s faith in him, he let that go with a mere nod. Then he asked, “You said that you had missed more than one thing which you should not have missed, Glorfindel. What were the others?” 

The Balrog-Slayer leaned back in his chair, looking fatigued again, as he explained, “You are correct that Elladan, Melpomaen, Ecthelion, and Orophin made their own choices, in respect of agreeing to go on Mithrandir’s errands. However, there were moments, at least with Elladan, Melpomaen, and even Theli, when I could have pressed a little harder. Been a little more empathetic, which as you know, is not a strength of mine. But if I had been able to hold onto my temper and let my sympathy and insight have free rein . . . we could have learned what was going on much earlier. I think I could have gotten the truth out of Theli, after their second mission, if I hadn’t been willing to be satisfied by him agreeing to bear a sword again. There was a good chance that I could have persuaded Elladan to tell me what was going on before their dangerous ninth mission, if I hadn’t let him push me into being angry with him, over a separate issue likewise having to do with a failure of attention on my part.” 

“Elladan does like to push his luck,” Thranduil remarked, because it was true, even if it was not an excuse. 

“Almost every chance he gets,” Glorfindel agreed in a tone which made it seem both as if he both admired that trait and found it infuriating, “But I’m three Ages older than Elladan. I ought to have had more patience.” 

“Never really an adjective I’ve associated with you, to be honest,” Thranduil confessed, while doing his best to hide a smile. 

Glorfindel sneered at him in a friendly manner, then became solemn again as he related, “In failing to summon sufficient patience to properly care for the young elves I love, I missed out on learning from them what they were up to. And I knew well by then, that at least three of them – Melpomaen, Orophin, and Theli – had their own good reasons for being slow to trust in authority figures.”

“Theli, due to his experiences with his grandfather and his other family who abandoned him simply for following his calling,” Thranduil guessed based on his own knowledge, “Orophin, from him and his brothers having been on their own for a time before they were found and adopted by cousins Celeborn and Galadriel. And Melpomaen, due to his own difficult elflinghood, before Erestor took him in.” 

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed, with a fell light in his ancient cobalt blue eyes, “All of that. And Elladan’s failure of trust in this instance disturbs me on several levels. I know, now, that he didn’t tell us every insult and belittlement which Saruman had hurled at him, because he felt that we weren’t going to take him seriously, and what was the point. And I must admit that I am now concerned that something else may have happened to Elladan, which I missed, and which Elrond, Celebrian and Erestor all missed as well. Elrohir is of a practical nature. He is one of the athletic and strategic protegees amongst my military apprentices, as are you. However, there very easily could have been unkind words levied against both of the twins when they were small, which Elrohir would have shrugged off if he even noticed them, but which may have hurt Elladan deeply. I am now finding it impossible to forget that it was Elladan who first realized that Erestor’s former chief-of-staff Falathar was abusing our Melpomaen when he was a teenager. And I wonder now, as I cursed well should have then, why that was.” 

“I believe this is the point at which Elrond would have told you not to kill anyone,” Thranduil interjected mildly, although he was more than slightly concerned by the fearsome gleam in Glorfindel’s eyes and his intently focused expression. 

The Balrog-Slayer chuckled darkly, “You are likely right about that, Thranduil. Do not fear, though. If it comes to that, I’ll rely on Elladan himself to stop me, believe it or not. Him, or Rumil. Elrond and I have borrowed Rumil before, to keep me from going too far in rectifying injustices.” 

“That is reassuring, I suppose,” Thranduil ventured. 

More to himself than to Thranduil, although the King felt rather honored to be trusted with such information, Glorfindel mused, “It may simply be that Elladan was intelligent and perceptive enough to understand insults or unkindnesses not meant for his ears. Children are vulnerable, and intelligent and empathetic children particularly so,” there Glorfindel looked up and pinned Thranduil with an insightful and sympathetic look, “which I believe that you know.” 

“Yes,” Thranduil conceded, although he did not deign to review those memories. Instead, he decided that he, too, was concerned that someone might have been cruel to Elladan as an elfling. Elladan, as annoying as he could be, was a good elf. And he was Elrond’s son and Thalion’s friend. And Theli’s friend, as well. 

Glorfindel simply nodded, allowing the last topic to die, before continuing to explain of his heart-grandson, “All the members of your family, and Elrond’s, are intelligent. You all have your other strengths, as well. But Elladan, when it comes to sheer intelligence exhaustively applied to effort, rather than more generalized wisdom, is on an entirely different level.” 

“He certainly feels that way,” Thranduil agreed sardonically. 

Glorfindel huffed in what might have been a laugh, “Oh, aye, he’s not humble. But he has achieved 21 different masteries. That I know of.” 

“Really?” Thranduil inquired, quite taken aback, “I did not even know that he had achieved the rank of master healer. Not that I thought less of him for it, given how much time he spends in Imladris’ guard under your command, and knight-erranting about with Elrohir.” As well as his time spent in Enemy Lands, Thranduil mentally added to that list. 

“Elladan attained the rank of Master Healer when he was 217 years old,” Glorfindel explained with a mix of pride and exasperation, “The youngest elven and peredhel master healer, so far as we know. However, Elladan does not like to claim that rank, as he feels it makes patients and their loved ones less likely to share all of their concerns and theories with him. Elladan has also achieved the level of mastery as an alchemist, apothecarist, brewer, scholar, archivist, engineer, jewelry-smith, weapons-smith, locksmith, blacksmith, carpenter, wainwright, rope-maker, mariner, navigator, boat-wright, cooper, sculptor, glass-blower, tanner, and weaver.” 

“Dear Eru, why?” 

Glorfindel waved a hand, as if to say he wasn’t exactly sure, “Some, because he wanted to better understand the processes of how his various medicines and medical supplies could best be stored, transferred, and shipped. Others, for reasons known only to him, and perhaps also to Elrohir or Melpomaen. The last mastery I heard of him attaining was weaver, which I only learned of because Master Olthadvren happened to mention it. So far as I can tell, Elladan sits for mastery examinations mostly as a means of testing his own knowledge, rather than as a means of attaining the distinction of being the master of another craft or discipline. Although I suspect that there was also something of hoping to make his parents proud of him and differentiating him in their eyes, as children of prominent parents often find themselves struggling to do. Or at least that it was so in the beginning. Now that Elrond has sailed, and even before when we were all so busy trying to counter and limit Sauron’s influence during the late Third Age, I must confess that I lost track of keeping up with everything that Elladan was up to. In retrospect, that was a mistake.” 

Thranduil couldn’t argue with that. He himself felt a small amount of guilt for not having realized that Theli had been wandering around the perilous south of Middle Earth with Elladan and the others. But, unlike Glorfindel in respect of Elladan, keeping track of what Theli was doing, especially outside of his official duties, hadn’t been Thranduil’s responsibility. Or even Theli’s commanding officers’ or Master Nestorion’s responsibilities, although the latter at least likely would have inquired. Given that no one would have thought to ask Theli the precise question of whether he was intelligence gathering in Enemy lands with only a handful of companions, Thranduil didn’t particularly feel as if missing what Theli had been up to was anyone’s responsibility. He’d likely have to point that out, though, to Master Nestorion. And thinking of master healers . . .

“Did you know that Theli has never passed the examinations to be a master healer?” Thranduil inquired of Glorfindel. 

“The written part of the examinations,” Glorfindel corrected, confirming that he had been aware. 

“I think that I’m going to need to hire tutors for him, to help him with reading and writing, beyond healer’s records and military reports,” Thranduil confessed, “Although I’m not sure why he continues to have so much trouble. There’s nothing wrong with his mind.” 

Glorfindel considered Thranduil carefully for a moment, as if weighing the younger warrior with his eyes. At last the Balrog-Slayer said quietly, “I would not share this, save that you have stepped forward to give Ecthelion an older kinsman’s guidance as he attempts to grow into his new role as an heir of your great-uncle Elu.” 

“Great-Great-Great Uncle,” Thranduil corrected. 

Glorfindel waved that distinction off and then further dismissed it with, “I view Elrond, Erestor, and both of their children as all being my grandchildren. The extra ‘great’s’ don’t make any difference to me in terms of the depth of my affection.” 

Then Glorfindel paused again. 

Thranduil waited quietly. He knew from past experience that the Balrog-Slayer could not be hurried. And if Glorfindel did know more about Theli’s learning difficulties than the King himself did, which was possible given that Theli had been Elrond’s protegee, and Glorfindel Elrond’s confidant, then Thranduil did want to hear it. 

His patience was rewarded, as Glorfindel pensively explained, “Elrond told me that the ‘training’ which Eldun – Elurin - had put his grandson through when Theli was only an elfling – or a child peredhel, I suppose – had damaged Theli’s mind. Galadriel confirmed that, as I believe that you know, so we know that this damage is something which is objectively present in Ecthelion’s mind, based on both of their examinations. Galadriel and Elrond, to the best of my knowledge, believed that such early damage retarded only what mind magic gifts Theli might otherwise have been able to develop in time.” 

Thranduil nodded to confirm that his understanding had been the same. 

“However, as I learned last night,” Glorfindel continued, “Elladan believes that the damage might have been more pervasive, or that, at the very least, that Elurin’s having punished his grandson for learning to read and write as a child peredhel still affects Theli’s ability to learn. Elladan may be wrong. But I do not believe that he is mistaken in his assertion that even the best master healers do not understand well how the mind works, for Elrond often rued that same thing. I think that it is not impossible that the damage which affects Theli’s ability to learn mind speech and the like, may also have affected his abilities when it comes to learning more generally.” 

“Has Elladan told Theli this?” Thranduil inquired, feeling both saddened and yet again angered with Elurin. 

“According to Elladan,” Glorfindel shared with a wry smile, “Theli thinks that Elladan’s theory is bunkum.” 

The smile disappeared as Glorfindel added, “However, as I believe you also know, Theli is very reluctant to concede that his grandfather hurt him at all. He may have been unwilling to even consider Elladan’s thoughts on the matter, due to that.” 

“Right,” Thranduil had to agree. Through narrowed eyes, he added, “I’m grateful that Elurin finally deigned to share with Theli that he and his cousins are my kinsmen, as well as Celeborn’s and Elrond’s. But I’m not pleased that he took himself out of range of our justified remonstrations even as he did so.” 

“I believe this is the point where your cousin Celeborn would tell you to control your temper, Thranduil,” Glorfindel pointed out levelly, but with a spark of amusement in his eyes. 

“Oh, as if that criticism doesn’t apply at least equally as much to you,” Thranduil said with a dismissive huff. 

“Point,” Glorfindel conceded. Then he considered Thranduil for another moment, before venturing, “I do not believe that I will say this in front of your cousin Celeborn or my grandson Erestor, in part because I do not wish to imply in any way that I doubt your fitness to provide an elder kinsman’s guidance to Theli. And also in part because it is something I have not shared with anyone since setting sail from Aman during the Second Age. Shared willingly, that is. Elrond guessed, too-clever elfling that he is.”

Thranduil was torn between curiosity and amusement at his older cousin Elrond being referred to as ‘an elfling,’ which Glorfindel had only very rarely slipped enough to say in Thranduil’s hearing. 

The Balrog-slayer continued, “You see, I do have a unique understanding for Theli’s situation. If Theli sails before his cousins Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil, he could well arrive in the West and find himself on the shortlist of Dior’s heirs. That list may now consist of solely his cousin Emlyn before him, if Emlyn has even been reborn. Dior had no heir, as of when I sailed here from the West. His great-uncle Elmo – who was your great-great-grandfather – served as Dior’s and Nimloth’s Steward for their kingdom of Doriath Gaeronwest, but Elmo did not wish to rule again. Dior’s daughter Elwing had abdicated her own place in the succession, and I cannot imagine Elrond agreeing to play the role of a great king’s heir again, save under the most desperate of circumstances.” 

“Neither can I,” Thranduil had to concur, “and it has occurred to me that Theli might sail sooner than his cousins,” for instance, with Legolas, “and find himself to be, due to his birth alone, in a position which he has not expected. Preparing him for that will likely be a challenge.” 

But that wasn’t a terrible thing. Thranduil wouldn’t have to manage the entire matter himself. Theli was well-liked as a royal healer. There would certainly be those who were willing to lend a hand, not the least among them Fileg and his wife Calmarille, and now Glorfindel. Master Nestorion had always seemed very fond of Theli as well. 

“I expect it will be a challenge,” Glorfindel said empathetically, “Like our friend Theli, I had every reason to believe that I had been born a commoner for the first several thousand years of my life. Just as you made Theli a lord of your Greenwood, out of fondness and because it served several of your own purposes, so my King Turgon raised me to the highest ranks of his vassal lords. His elevation of me was not considered a popular decision amongst many of his other lords, who had already lost many privileges coming to Beleriand from Aman. Nor did I particularly help the matter with my own behavior. I was even more blunt then than I am now – yes, Thranduil, you may laugh at that.” 

Thranduil didn’t, but it was a struggle. 

“My wife Laureamoriel softened me and helped me to make myself more palatable in the eyes of others,” Glorfindel continued, “just as she had once done for my lord Turgon’s cousin Artanis – Galadriel. Given how many military and administrative duties I had already been discharging on Turgon’s behalf, it was not so great a change for me in terms of responsibility. Still, I was far from where I had begun, the beloved son of a somber but prosperous Vanyarin farmer.” 

“I had not figured you for a farmer’s son,” Thranduil remarked when Glorfindel paused, “more a soldier’s.” 

“I was born a farmer’s son,” Glorfindel confirmed, “Then, when I was very young, of age but not fully grown, I witnessed my mother be attacked by a thief, and put in fear of her life. It was one of Prince Fingolfin’s new peacekeepers who was able to save my mother’s life while I could only stand there, unarmed and helpless. I have never forgotten that feeling, Thranduil, and I swore to myself that I would never be so helpless to protect someone I loved again. I went that day to ask Fingolfin’s lieutenant, who was Prince Turgon himself, if I might join them. My father, who had always until that day loved me and supported me, disowned me for it. His mother, my paternal grandmother, said that blood will tell, and that my mother’s tainted Noldorin blood was to blame for my foolishness in abandoning an honorable life for a soldier’s uncertain fortunes.” 

“What did your mother say?” Thranduil asked, feeling anger on the young Balrog-Slayer’s behalf, as he’d so often felt angry on Theli’s behalf when he thought of Elurin banishing his grandson merely for following his dream of learning how to become a great healer. 

“She was unwilling to risk her accustomed style of life to challenge my father,” Glorfindel explained matter-of-factly, “she already felt that their means were too poor to give her the luxuries and attendants that she deserved, although I did not at the time fully understand why that was. I had never known her family, although I’d been faintly aware that they hadn’t approved of my father, and that she had cut ties with them after her own marriage. In any case, I was on my own. I worked odd jobs to support myself, around dedicating my daylight hours to training with Fingolfin’s peace keepers in the Noldorin capital of Tirion.” 

“That must have been exhausting,” Thranduil observed, much taken aback, “You would never have let a student of yours go without room and board and wear themselves so thin.” 

“No, I would most certainly not have,” Glorfindel agreed, “And Turgon himself felt much the same way, once he figured out what I had been doing. He took me into his personal service then. For some reason, I appealed to him, as difficult a youth as I was at that point. He also put a stop to my getting into duels with idiots who teased me for my fair features and blond hair.” 

Thranduil stared at him in surprise, then disbelievingly asked, “You actually got into duels over elves calling you Goldilocks? You?! I had thought that to be a tale which Elrond had made up, just to put me on!” 

Glorfindel glowered a little, but answered, “Elrond likely wouldn’t have done such a thing in any case, but yes, I did. I didn’t say that I was smart when I was that young, Thranduil. I’m still not a particularly fast learner, save when it comes to the military arts, and that wasn’t different when I was young. I also had very touchy pride and a quick temper. In those days, I was quite a trial for Turgon and his other bosom companions, who included Turgon’s cousin, the royal lord Ecthelion, who later died fighting the other balrog during our escape from Gondolin.” 

“The Lord Ecthelion of the House of the Fountain, great-grandson of the first Noldorin King Finwe by his oldest daughter the Princess Findis,” Thranduil remembered from Elrond’s and Erestor’s history lessons, “who is Theli’s namesake, and who reminds you of Theli.” 

With a cheerful laugh, Glorfindel dismissed, “In no way does your cousin Theli remind me of my friend Theli! Well, save in that they share the same name and the same kind heart. Your cousin Theli has always reminded me of Elrond, and perhaps also a little bit of you in his fearlessness in confronting authority.” 

“Thank you,” said Thranduil dryly. 

“And somewhat of me,” Glorfindel continued without acknowledging Thranduil’s bit of sarcasm, “In that our Theli was too much alone starting out on his chosen path in life, during the War of the Last Alliance. At least until Elrond took him under his wing.” 

“Nestorion looked out for him, too,” Thranduil countered. 

“Aye, and in some ways better than Elrond did. But Theli needed Elrond too, because Elrond understood what it was to be a healer in his heart, and yet also to feel required to serve as a soldier. And then, after centuries of loyal service, you made Theli a lord. Which he has managed to more or less ignore, save when you need him to act as such. And now, that will have to change. As my life changed when I was reborn in the West.” 

“Were you one of the only lords of Gondolin present to lead your people?” Thranduil asked sympathetically, whilst mentally dismissing his worries about how different life might be for Thranduil himself, in the West. 

“There weren’t enough Gondolindhrim reborn yet to need a leader,” Glorfindel corrected, regarding Thranduil with such sympathy that the King wondered if Glorfindel might be aware of Thranduil’s own fears for the future, although to his gratitude Glorfindel made no mention of such, and merely continued, “I was reborn too early for that. During the War of Wrath, in fact. When I left the Lorien Gardens, I, like many other reborn elves, was met by members of my family. Rather a surprise, that, in my case.” 

“Your father had forgiven you?” Thranduil asked hopefully. 

“No. He never has,” Glorfindel explained stoically, “But my mother’s estranged family took her back, after we exiles left for Middle Earth. My mother was there to meet me, with apologies for her desertion. And at her side were her own mother, the Princess Findis, and also the then-reigning Prince Regent of the Noldorin elves, Prince Finrod Finarfinchil. Whom I’d known, in a general way, from when I’d been his cousin Turgon’s retainer. But mere hours after being reborn, I found myself also Finrod’s cousin, and as such the only other living male descendant of Finwe in Aman, what with Fingon’s father Finarfin on the other side of the sea with the Host of the Valar. I was the heir presumptive to the de-facto King of the Noldor in Tirion, and I had no idea what I was doing.” 

“I imagine not,” Thranduil observed, much taken aback. 

With a huff of laughter and a rueful grin, Glorfindel continued, “Prince Finrod, despite his teasing, was patience itself with me, as was his wife, Amarie. But they insisted that I fulfill the role I had been reborn for. And, even as at sea as I was, I could tell that they needed the help. So I dressed in ornate, uncomfortable outfits, and I stood or sat by Finrod’s side for hours upon hours, trying to make heads or tales out of what was going on.”

“I’m sure that Prince Finrod appreciated that,” Thranduil thought aloud, remembering his own difficult days as a new King, even though he had been trained for it. 

“Aye, he did, and so did Amarie, and all of their household, including my prim and proper grandmother and mother. However, when Finarfin and the lords who had gone to Middle Earth finally returned after their victory in the War of Wrath, it took them decades to stop looking at me – and treating me – as if I was a common soldier who had somehow accidentally been invited to the palace as a special treat, and then forgotten to leave. So, you see, I understand intimately well what Ecthelion is about to go through. If he needs a break from you, or you from him, do not hesitate to send him to me in Imladris. Or in Gondor. Wherever I am.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Thranduil promised, still amazed on some level by the very idea of Glorifndel having to toe the line of stiff and formal court protocols similar to those which his father and uncle had described having to abide to in Doriath. Then it occurred to him that, “Being one of King Finwe’s great-grandsons means that you’re Elrond’s cousin, too, as well as Galadriel’s and Celebrian’s. And then so are your son Arandil and your grandson Erestor.” 

Glorfindel nodded, amused, and then added, “And Melpomaen is their cousin as well, both as my grandson Erestor’s adopted son, and again by blood as Findis’ granddaughter Lindanelle’s great-grandson. Lindanelle was my oath-brother Theli’s – Ecthelion’s - younger sister. Theli and Lindanelle were Findis’ other grandchildren, my first cousins. My mother’s sister’s children.” 

“I didn’t mean to exclude Melpomaen,” Thranduil said. 

“I know,” Glorfindel accepted. Then, with a tired but mischievous grin, the Balrog-Slayer requested, “Don’t tell anyone else about this. I’ll tell Erestor before he sails. I didn’t bother to tell Arandil or Galadriel before they sailed. I thought that it would be a nice surprise for them on the other side. Neither of them get to enjoy enough surprises in life, they spend so much time puzzling things out ahead of time.” 

Unable to help but smile at that, Thranduil dead-panned, “I think that was very kind, for you to look after your son and Galadriel in that way.” 

Glorfindel chuckled, “Also, it’s hard to get one up on either of them. I have to take advantage when an authority presents himself.” 

Then Erestor knocked on the door to remind them both of the time. 

Thranduil and Fileg joined the Imladris elves, including the quiet Elladan, on their way to the briefing in one of the Gondorian King’s middling-sized conference rooms in the Citadel. While they walked, Thranduil pondered over the thought of a Glorfindel who less infallible than Thranduil had ever expected. And who seemed to be willing to offer a hand in friendship to Thranduil, making him feel an honorary member of the ‘elder set’ without making Thranduil feel stodgy or unwilling about it. 

Fileg lingered back a little, prompting Thranduil to do the same. 

Softly enough only to be heard by his King and blood-brother, Fileg inquired with concern, “Why were you so long alone with Captain Glorfindel, Thrani? When did you even have the time to do something to get him angry with you?” 

“It wasn’t anything like that,” Thranduil reassured his gwador, “He just wanted to talk to me alone.” 

When Fileg’s expression remained unconvinced, Thranduil nudged his slightly older cousin’s shoulder and half-teased, “Besides, what would you have done, even if I had ‘gotten into trouble’ with Glorfindel?” 

Fileg returned the nudge and said firmly, “Made sure that he wasn’t too hard on you, of course, gwador-laes. Even if that meant pulling in Elrond, whether you wanted it or not. So, I suppose that would mean Erestor, now? Or Celeborn?” 

“Very kind of you, Fileg,” Thranduil replied, half-touched and half irritated, “But entirely unneeded in this case.” Or in any case, but Thranduil didn’t think that it would be productive to argue that point with Fileg. Thranduil hadn’t been afraid of Glorfindel, even as serious a matter as offending the Balrog Slayer had always been, and likely still was. 

Thranduil continued somberly, “Glorfindel wanted to apologize, for . . . something.” He didn’t feel like telling anyone, even Fileg, about breaking down over Saruman. At least, not before a briefing during which he had to be ‘The King,’ and also strong, for Theli’s sake. 

“Glorfindel apologized?” Fileg asked, much taken aback, ”To someone other than Elrond? Specifically, to you? For what?” 

“I’ll tell you later,” Thranduil promised. At his oath-brother’s doubtful expression, Thranduil continued emphatically, “I will, Fileg. But it would be too hard to talk about it now.” 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” Fileg replied, with a less dubious expression, although he was still incredulous as he went on to ask, “Really? All that time, just for an apology?” 

“He also wanted to share some other thoughts with me,” Thranduil allowed carefully. 

Fileg tilted his blond head in inquiry, “Thoughts concerning Theli?” 

Thranduil nodded. 

“You can share that with us, too, you know,” Fileg said, half-encouraging and half-scolding, “Just because you’ve assumed responsibility for him, doesn’t mean that it’s just your job alone. I’m happy to help, and Lin will listen. You know that we can be discrete. And Master Nestorion will certainly want to aid Theli in any way he can, when we get back to the Greenwood.” 

“I know,” Thranduil agreed, “But I’m having some difficulty determining what is Theli’s matter alone, and what is something that I’m going to have to deal with. Let me figure that out first.” 

“Sure,” Fileg allowed with a quick grin, “Unless it’s bothering you. Then we’ll ask you about it again.” 

“Of course you will,” Thranduil agreed wryly, feeling lucky to have his oath-brothers and friends, even if they were annoyingly attentive at times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: 
> 
> Thranduil’s own most stunning display of reckless idiocy during the War of the Last Alliance, which Glorfindel references in this chapter, was discussed in Chapter 19 of this story. It had to do with Thranduil sneaking into the Enemy camps to slay enemies. If you would like to read more about it, then you should check out what Thranduil did during the War of the Last Alliance Emma’s story “Hope Beyond Reason,” available here on AO3:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347656/chapters/33114771
> 
> Those specific events are discussed in Chapter 3 of that story, available here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347656/chapters/33556956
> 
> I am borrowing that series of events from Emma and Kaylee, with their kind permission. In my AU, Thranduil was caught at his reckless errands by Glorfindel, and never captured, which diverts from Emma and Kaylee’s AU, wherein he was captured.
> 
> I highly recommend that you check out “Hope Beyond Reason” if you are a Thranduil fan, as well as Emma’s and Kaylee’s other Thranduil stories! See the author’s note at the top of this chapter for where to find those stories. Please read all tags.


	30. The Briefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The leaders of the allied human, elven, and dwarven realms meet to discuss the intelligence which Elladan, Theli, Melpomaen, and Orophin gathered during their journeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, his friend Linwe, and General Rochendil, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 3: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes chapter 30: 
> 
> “We are defined by how we use our power.” ~ Gerry Spence
> 
> “A noble person attracts noble people, and knows how to hold on to them.” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
> 
> “No, no, never send interim reports. Only final ones. Interim reports tend to elicit orders. Which you must either then obey, or spend valuable time and energy evading, which you could be using to solve the problem.” - LM Bujold
> 
> “[N]ot all evil is banal. Some of it is carefully structured and well-thought-out. That's where the real danger lies.” - Alan Dean Foster
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 19 regarding Chapter 30: 
> 
> Glorfindel, after consulting with the rulers of the other elven kingdoms and Aragorn and Arwen, scheduled a meeting for the following day to go into any added intelligence the four elves could bring to bear on the current political and diplomatic situation.  
> Chapter 30:

The morning’s briefing took place in one of the secure meeting rooms of the Citadel. Thranduil nodded to Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir, and Eowyn, and exchanged other greetings with the high-ranking elves and humans already seated at the large round table, including his sons, cousins, and Rochendil. 

Legolas, Thalion, and Baeraeriel were seated amongst the humans, with Legolas next to Eowyn. Thranduil observed with interest that there were two empty seats between the White Lady and Faramir, which was quite odd. Faramir sat next to his father Estel – Aragorn. Or Elessar Telcontar, if one was inclined to be formal. Arwen sat to the right of her husband, with Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his ebullient son Amrothos on her other side. 

Imrahil’s heavily pregnant daughter Lothiriel, now Queen of Rohan, was at the side of her husband, Eomer-King of Rohan. They were accompanied by several male advisors, and one of Lothiriel’s women. 

The other humans present included Lady Saelind, who was one of Arwen’s ladies-in-waiting and guards. More on the point, Saelind was also the daughter and only child of Prince Bregolas of Emyn Uial, the Lord Steward of Arnor. Thranduil supposed that Saelind was present as regent for her father. Saelind’s husband, Lord the Captain Galdoron Sendarionhil, also had a seat at the table, but in his capacity as Faramir’s second-in-command in the Army of Gondor. 

There was a vacant seat beside Captain Galdoron. Thranduil thought that it was likely intended for Aragorn and Arwen’s chief spymaster, Captain the Lord Ethiron of Eryn Vorn. Ethiron was currently speaking softly to Aragorn and Faramir. Thranduil noted with interest that Captain Ethiron seemed much less strained than he had been Thranduil’s arrival in Minas Tirith. 

Thranduil hid a frown at noticing that it was That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli who was seated on the other side of Eomer’s advisors. Several of that-Annoying-Dwarf’s rock-headed cousins were also present, as well as the Lady Dis and Gimli’s mother the Lady Kala, both of whom Thranduil found tolerable. The only other one of the male dwarves whom Thranduil recognized was Gimli’s cousin and brother-by-law Balder, who made somewhat of a habit out of insulting elves, even Legolas. 

The Imladris elves, who had entered at the same time as Thranduil and Fileg, sat together as a group. Glorfindel once again radiated the tireless authority of a great elder warrior. Elegant Erestor, before taking the seat beside Glorfindel, looked surprisingly fierce as he placed a protective arm around his son Melpomaen, and spoke quietly to him. The kind and almost delicate Melpomaen took a deep breath and nodded bravely back to his father, before taking his own seat with a noticeable wince. 

Elladan and Elrohir were seated to the other side of Glorfindel. Elrond’s twin sons were mirror images of one another, and today, they were dressed identically. Thranduil knew them quite well, and the only way he could tell them apart today was by their facial expressions. Elrohir’s was stoic, but his body language was very subtly supportive of his twin beside him. Elladan appeared focused and calm, but he did wince faintly as he sat down on the cushioned chair. 

The normally suave Orophin also seemed uncomfortable in his seat. He sat in between his wife Eilunwen, whose hand he appeared to be holding under the table, and his adopted father Celeborn, who at times rested a comforting hand on Orophin’s shoulder. 

Rochendil sat at Thrandil’s right, next to a seat left empty for Captain Teliemir. Teliemir, when he arrived, would be sitting beside Lady Lothgail, Thranduil’s young cousin and second-heir after Legolas. Lothgail was currently involved in a quiet conversation with Celeborn’s oldest adopted son Haldir, who was seated to her left. Better her than Thranduil, the King thought with some asperity. Lothgail was much better at handling Haldir’s officiousness and bossy tendencies than Thranduil. 

The seat to Thranduil’s left was purposely unclaimed in anticipation of Theli’s arrival. Fileg sat on the other side of that chair, so that there was more than one elf prepared to calm Theli down. Or to kick his ankle to remind him to speak up, or to signal him to stop speaking. On Fileg’s other side there was another empty chair awaiting Linwe. 

Theli himself arrived with Linwe and Teliemir just before the briefing was due to start. The younger elf appeared a bit dazed, but he was dressed suitably, and also wearing warrior’s braids for the first time that Thranduil could remember since Theli’s last departure from the Army. It had been an honorable discharge, for battle sickness. Whether Theli thought such an ending to his career had made him unfit to wear warrior’s braids, or just didn’t care for them, Thranduil did not know. Although he did suspect the former, and had implied as much to Linwe the previous evening. 

Whatever Theli’s reason, Linwe had helped Theli with his braids today. Thranduil could tell his gwador’s deft touch. And besides, the small dark blue and green tanzanite, benitoite, and aventurine gemstone beads woven into Theli’s warrior braids were all extras from Thranduil’s jewel casket or Linwe’s kit. 

Casual conversations at the large table were ceasing, so Thranduil greeted the arrival of Theli and his captains with only an approving nod. To both Linwe and Teliemir, the latter of which had just handed him a sheaf of parchment, he added a silent but sincere thank you.   
Thranduil touched Theli’s mind very gently in welcome as Fileg directed the younger elf to sit beside his King. With Theli’s nightmare of the previous evening, Elladan’s troubling revelations, and Glorfindel’s concerns all in mind, Thranduil infused as much reassurance as he could into the communication. He did not reveal, nor was he yet sure that he was planning to reveal to Theli at all, how much he now knew about what had happened to his new-found cousin in Khand. 

Theli mustered a grateful but nervous smile for Thranduil. Linwe and Teliemir both paused to lay an affirming hand on either of Theli’s shoulders before taking their own seats. 

Thranduil himself patted Theli’s nearer knee under the table and silently urged, *Do be calm, pest. All will be well.* 

Theli turned his head to regard his King, his dark blue eyes earnest but unsettled. He nodded bravely. 

Thranduil squeezed his younger cousin’s nearer knee, noting as he did so a look of approval from Cousin Celeborn. Whether it was for Theli’s being dressed appropriately or something else, Thranduil did not know, but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

The King of the Greenwood then turned his attention to the King of Men. It was now several minutes past the officially scheduled beginning of the briefing. Even such mild lateness was unusual from Aragorn, who was a timely fellow. 

Wondering at this, Thranduil inquired silently of his son, *Laes-nin? Do you know the reason for this delay?*

Legolas made eye contact with his father, and then nodded subtly back. Thranduil’s youngest son wasn’t yet able to mind-speak in coherent thoughts, but he purposely dwelled on images of Faramir and Eowyn greeting a somewhat familiar Gondorian man, and a beautiful Haradric woman who was entirely unknown to Thranduil. Legolas’ emotions were see-sawing wildly, but not in a manner which made it clear to Thranduil who these people were. 

Thranduil did not have a chance to ponder the matter further, as the guards outside the chamber door knocked on the door in warning and then admitted the man and woman from Legolas’ recollections. The man was tall, dark-haired, and blue eyed. He was dressed in the uniform of a junior captain of Gondor, with a patch identifying his fiefdom on his shoulder. The patch had a coronet on it, which made the new arrival either a lord of Gondor or a lord’s heir, but Thranduil did not know which. 

Theli leaned forward and whispered, “Lord-the-Captain Dervorin, heir to Lord Tyorvond of the Ringlo Vale. Dervorin works for Captain Ethiron, but he also reports to Faramir. I think that he is Gondor’s spy-runner for the lands to the south. I know that he is one of Faramir’s and Eowyn’s dearest friends, and that he has been missing since Faramir’s disappearance. I’ve heard that he was searching for Faramir in Harad and Umbar.” 

Thranduil recognized the name ‘Dervorin’ from briefings with Aragorn, Faramir, and Ethiron. Which, as Theli had pointed out, made Dervorin the two kingdoms’ junior spy-master. From the glare that Legolas was giving the rose-clad Haradric woman at Dervorin’s side, this must be Sayyida, Dervorin’s new wife and a one-time lover of Faramir’s. Or an almost-lover. From what Thranduil had overheard of Legolas’ argument with Faramir, the context had not been entirely clear. 

Having known many more generations of Men, the King of the Greenwood had not been quite so taken aback by the thought of such a thing as his son had been. From his Legolas’ conversation with Faramir, Thranduil had gathered that the Steward of Gondor had been much younger when this ‘affair’ or ‘almost-affair’ had taken place, such that it had been over and done with for years, or more likely, decades, before Faramir had even met Eowyn. 

Thranduil did look over to Eowyn, to see what she thought of this turn of events. The White Lady’s expression was reserved as she observed the new arrivals, but not actually unfriendly. The King decided to follow the White Lady’s lead.

Eomer-King, never one to be tactful, didn’t take a cue from his sister. Instead he interrupted the proceedings before Aragorn could even call the meeting to order. 

Gesturing to the strange foreign woman now seated between Dervorin and Eowyn, Eomer complained, “Who in Bema’s name is she, and what is she doing here?” 

His sister Eowyn replied with scant patience, “Brother, this is our friend Dervorin’s new bride, Sayyida. She was formerly one of Gondor’s chiefest informants in South Gondor and Harad, and she has spent the better part of the last six months helping Dervorin search for information about where my husband was.” 

“So, she’s Haradric?” Eomer said, clearly still discontented. 

“Sorry to spring this on you, Eomer-my-friend,” Dervorin addressed the Rohirric king informally, “But having my beloved wife here for this discussion will save us a great deal of time and trouble. Out of all of mine and Faramir’s informants, Sayyida has the broadest knowledge of the Corsair Oligarchs of Umbar and the Emirates of Near and Far Harad. She also has specific information about some of them, and their chief retainers and servants.” 

Eomer didn’t seem to mind the informality, but it was plain that he was still unsatisfied with Eowyn’s and Dervorin’s explanations. He turned his attention to Sayyida directly, and asked, “You’ve sworn no oaths of loyalty or secrecy to my sword-brother Aragorn-King, or at least none that I know of. Do you even speak Westron?” 

“My new subject speaks Westron quite well, Eomer-my-brother,” Aragorn remonstrated mildly, “And she swore her oaths of fealty to me this morning, with Arwen, Imrahil, Faramir, and Eowyn as witnesses. I do hope that you can be satisfied by that.” 

“Mostly,” Eomer allowed reluctantly, although he still appeared quite disgruntled to Thranduil. 

Eomer’s wife laid her hand lightly on her husband’s arm to comfort him. Then Queen Lothiriel turned to ask Sayyida in a friendly but intent manner, “Lady Sayyida, if you will speak for yourself, I believe that will put my husband more at his ease.” 

The Haradric woman favored Lothiriel with a respectful nod, then answered in her prettily accented Westron, “I am happy to speak for myself when men are of a mind to listen, Lothiriel-Queen. Your husband Eomer-King would not, I think, have been willing to consider trusting me without first hearing my bona fides from my new King and Queen, and from the Lady of Ithilien his sister.” 

Lothiriel couldn’t help but smile in agreement at that. 

Sayyida returned the smile, then continued in the manner of one repeating a vow, “Now that you have heard of me from those whom you do trust, I will speak of myself. I am Sayyida bint Esmail. I will survive, no matter the circumstances. And I will protect my people, or die trying. Dervorin is my husband now, and he is pledged to Gondor. Therefore, Gondor - and Arnor - are my people now, too." 

Sayyida looked at the other humans and the elves and dwarves assembled around the table, and then ventured in such a way as to make it clear that she was not entirely sure that she was pleased, "Because your kingdoms are Gondor's allies, you are all my people as well, in a way." 

Thranduil trusted the foreigner more for being willing to show such uncertainty. He would have found her far less believable without it. But he was still annoyed enough at the delay to drawl, “And we are all so very glad to have your support." 

Faramir and Eowyn favored Thranduil with reproachful looks, and the elven King’s tart remark also earned him a silent scold from cousin Celeborn. 

*Behave, Thranduil,* Celeborn admonished, *at the very least, be polite.* 

To Thranduil’s surprise, it was Theli who spoke up in the newcomer’s defense.

"Please excuse my King's sarcasm, Lady Sayyida,” Theli said apologetically, “You see, through no fault of yours nor of his own, he's had a trying few days. His voice is just stuck in sarcasm right now." 

Thranduil stared at incredulously at Theli, while Fileg tried fairly successfully to disguise a laugh as a coughing fit. 

Legolas appeared torn between the two different reactions. He flinched, as if Eowyn might have kicked him under the table. Then he spoke up, and by so doing, saved Theli from public retribution. 

"That is very kind of you, Lady Sayyida,” Legolas said chivalrously, “I'm sure that what my father and my cousin mean is that we all appreciate your support."

The discussion moved on, but Thranduil’s irritation did not. 

*Save the clever banter for when we're not in so public a forum, Theli, if you will be so kind,* Thranduil reprimanded his new cousin sharply but silently. 

Under his breath, Theli murmured unrepentantly back, “I'll try, Thranduil Aran-nin. But you should try not to be sarcastic to frightened pregnant women." 

Thranduil gave the now-accepted Sayyida a surprised, curious look as he inquired of Theli, *She's pregnant? No one said so. And she doesn't seem frightened.*

Theli shook his head ever so slightly and replied at a whisper, "She's both. I'm a healer, I can tell." 

“Hmm,” Thranduil said quietly and pensively. The Haradric woman’s rich maroon and silver kirtle – which Thranduil recognized as belonging to Arwen- was tight across her bodice, but her rose silk underskirt flowed loosely down to the floor, such that it would conceal the beginning of a rounded stomach. Dismissing the matter for the time being, Thranduil returned his attention to the table at large. 

Much of what followed was a brief summation from Dervorin and Ethiron concerning what they already knew of the powerful men of Harad, Rhun, and Khand. This was followed by different reports from the elven leaders and the Men of Rohan regarding different difficulties they’d experienced which might be linked to such former enemies. At that point, Glorfindel, Aragorn, and Faramir would solicit any information that Elladan, Orophin, Melpomaen and Theli might have about the Enemy lands, even as dated as that information was. 

Thranduil was unsurprised that Orophin, Melpomaen, and Elladan had more to share regarding the political undertones of the Enemy lands they had visited than Theli did. But even so, Theli had noticed more than Thranduil would have expected of him. Mostly with respect to the attitudes of the people and what beliefs they held dear, or matters of commerce, rather than observations of their respective rulers and armies. Although there was some of the latter. 

Theli was also even more likely than Elladan to start going off on some tangential matter of medicine which had particularly interested him, but which did not add much to the immediate strategic situation. Glorfindel, Rochendil, and Teliemir were adept at re-directing Theli’s discourse back to more pertinent matters. And even Glorfindel did not seem particularly annoyed to have to do so. More resigned, but not to the point of being pejoratively so. 

These strategic discussions were occasionally interrupted by insertions from Faramir or the Lady Sayyida as to additional recent information they had regarding Haradric and Khandian threats. 

“How does a Haradric . . . information-broker . . . know so much about Khand?” Eomer-King inquired. Despite his words, both his tone and expression implied that he was half-convinced of Sayyida’s worth. 

“Haradric merchants travel through Khand, so conditions and laws and markets there are of interest to them, Eomer-King,” Sayyida explained in her rich alto voice, “Also, I once served in various great homes of Umbar, whose masters had contacts with various Khandian princes, lords, merchants, slave-traders, and skilled craftsmen. My intelligence from that time is mostly somewhat dated, but what I do know, I often learned directly from the Corsair lords themselves, or from their servants and slaves.” 

“Handy, that,” Prince Amrothos admired. 

“I used it for my business and my people; now I will use it for yours,” Sayyida acknowledged gravely. 

Every so often, usually after one of Faramir’s interjections, the discourse turned to Faramir’s personal information gathering activities in Harad. 

“I tell you,” Dervorin complained to Ethiron and Aragorn, but also to the table at large, “Faramir didn’t but fall into a gutter, or get waylaid by a gang of thieves in a bad part of town – both of which we’d warned him about ahead of time, curse it all – without befriending the son of the thieves’ leader and rescuing the younger brother of an important Bey from the thieves!” 

“Unfortunately,” Faramir noted with a blush, “Many of the favors resulting from my occasional luck are considered to be owed personally to me.” 

“Not to mention the favorable relationships and generous trading terms,” Sayyida concurred, “I knew that Faran – Faramir – was someone important to Gondor. Someone who shouldn’t have been in Harad at all, anymore. However . . .” 

“However,” Dervorin interrupted dryly, “even with Sayyida’s assistance, and help from the Beys and our other informants, it has been hard to transition those accustomed to dealing with Faramir to trusting someone else. We’ve begun to put it out that young Kasim is Faramir’s – Faran’s – son and heir, but even then, not everyone feels that they owe the same consideration to the son.” 

“Have you considered holding a funeral for our Faran?” Sayyida inquired thoughtfully of Dervorin. 

“I hadn’t, because to be cursed honest Saya, we still need him.” 

“Do consider it, Dervorin,” Aragorn recommended firmly but with some slight wry humor, “And these . . . favors . . . which my dear Prince has earned. I trust that most of the events inspiring such indebtedness occurred during the time of Lord Denethor’s stewardship?” 

“Nearly all of them, Sire,” Faramir confirmed to his father. 

“It is water under the bridge, then,” Aragorn conceded, “I do want to know all of what happened, in detail, and soon. But I do not hold you or Dervorin responsible for carrying out the orders of the old Steward, Faramir. To do so would be unfair.” 

“Thank you, Sir,” Faramir replied, not entirely able to hide his gratitude and relief. 

One of the other revelations which came out during the course of the briefing was that Elladan, with Melpomaen’s help, was deeply involved in the loosely related anti-slavery organizations, escape routes, and safe houses which ran throughout Enemy lands and into Gondor through Dol Amroth and Eriador (now mostly called Arnor again). 

“We have poor penetration into Khand,” Melpomaen explained helpfully, “Customs are just so different there.” 

“Khand aside, some of your Rhunnic anti-slavery supporters aren’t good at hiding their true affiliations,” Ethiron criticized. 

“Agreed,” said Sayyida, “When we work with the Rhunnic anti-slavery contacts, my women – Isra’s women now - have to supply all of the clothing for the escaped slaves before they move in to Rhun under the pretense of being free persons. Your Rhunnic allies will put the escaped slaves in nearly identical sets of new clothing if we leave the matter of attire to them. It makes the former slaves stand out when they would do better to blend in.” 

“Oh, I see,” Melpomaen replied thoughtfully, then recommended, “Elladan, we’re going to have to find a different market for the ready-made clothing assembled by your seamstresses and tailors in southern Eriador. Well, southern Arnor now.” 

Arwen narrowed her eyes at Elladan, “Didn’t you convince me to donate to that organization, brother dear? Re-training for widows and orphans, wasn’t it?” 

“Oh yes. But aren’t you pleased to know that you’ve been helping escaped slaves, sister dear?” Elladan asked. 

“It wasn’t just you, Arwen,” Melpomaen assured his old friend apologetically, “Elladan convinced your father to donate and invest a near-astronomical amount of money to this endeavor, while masking it as different research and development businesses, or employment opportunities for the Ranger-affiliated settlements. Then we laundered those funds through a number of Elladan’s different business holdings, which did come to exist in fact as well as on paper, so that they couldn’t easily be traced, either by our enemies or by our investors such as you and your father. Or Elrohir, for that matter.” 

“And the yearly financial reports from those companies, gwador, muindor?” Elrohir inquired darkly of his oath-brother and his twin. 

“Mostly legitimate, but incomplete,” Elladan answered breezily, “We overstated expenses during the first two dozen years or so, to give us a buffer. Since then we’ve slightly understated profits, so that we can continue to supply the slave escape, transportation, and resettlement networks with what the funds that they need. Of course, recurrent donations from anti-slavery proponents throughout the allied kingdoms and enemy lands have helped.” 

“I’m certain that they have,” Prince Imrahil observed bemusedly, “And I must wonder how involved my wife and my father were in all of this.” 

“Princess Lorias was wonderful with details,” Elladan reminisced, more-or-less confirming Imrahil’s suspicions concerning his wife’s involvement. 

“And my dear father Adrahil instructed me to just trust the anti-slavery network in Dol Amroth, and to let my wife do as she pleased, in order for me to preserve plausible deniability,” Imrahil observed sardonically, “How very like him.” 

“It was really Theli’s idea, to start with,” Elladan demurred, as if he were doing Theli a favor. 

Theli blinked at the younger peredhel in surprise, “I just helped little Bahadur’s family be able to afford to buy and free all of the slaves who had been kind to their son during his kidnapping and enslavement.” 

Faramir and Dervorin exchanged surprised looks while Elladan replied encouragingly to Theli, “I know, cousin. It’s not your fault that you lack sufficient experience with large-scale covert logistics and financing. Melpomaen, Adrahil, and I just made your idea better.” 

“Please do me the favor of refraining from teaching Ecthelion anything more about large-scale covert logistics, Elladan,” Thranduil instructed, unsure whether to feel amused or appalled. 

“Cousin Theli, by your mention of freeing ‘little Bahadur’ from slavery,” Faramir interrupted, “do you mean the late Emir Bahadur? The father of Emir Kader, the current ruler of Far Harad, and also the grandfather of Mirza Khay’ri, my friend and our honorable hostage? The Khay’ri who saved my life and Amrothos’ life several times during the sinking of the slave ships and our months on the island in Tolfalas?” 

“Yes, nephew, we do mean that Bahadur,” Elladan confirmed for Faramir on Theli’s behalf, “I sent Theli and Adrahil to the market in Umbar to buy provisions, and they came back with two slave children. Young Bahadur, who had been kidnapped and enslaved by an enemy of his family, and his little friend Raisa, who was born a slave but had done her best to keep Bahadur safe since they first met.” 

“That Raisa was my grandmother,” Sayyida shared solemnly, “Emir Bahadur and his sisters helped her to make an honorable marriage in Umbar.” 

“You never know where it will end, when you save a life, or someone’s liberty,” Prince Imrahil observed proudly, “That is part of why I always gave my wife whatever additional money she ostensibly required for ‘supplementing her wardrobe, jewelry, and linens.’ No matter how exorbitant her requests.” 

The subject moved back to the insufficiency of the allied kingdoms’ information network in Khand. Thranduil brushed Theli’s mind reassuringly as Elladan introduced the topic of the ‘man’ whom Theli referred to as the ‘Spirit-Stealer,’ and whom Elladan called ‘The Man with the Ancient Eyes.’ Theli mostly took calming breaths and let Elladan tell the story of the strangely powerful Khandian Merchant named Yong-Min. 

In addition to the Spirit-Stealer’s other crimes toward his people and servants, Elladan explained gravely that, “Yong-Min realized that there was something different about Theli, and probed his mind to some extent. Theli and I both saw that there was something ‘off’ about Yong-Min, and that his apparent age did not match the vast experience which we could see in his eyes. But Theli was additionally left with the impression that Yong-Min wanted to ‘control’ him somehow. To . . . steal his body and conquer his spirit.” 

“To me,” Glorfindel interjected, “This ‘Spirit-Stealer’ of yours sounds as if it might be one of the ancient dark spirits who were servants of Morgoth’s. Many of them escaped when the Valar destroyed Morgoth’s first stronghold of Utumno. Some allied with Sauron. Some caused other mischief. My King Turgon and my Lord Elrond did not believe that all of these foul beings had been found.”

“So Galadriel and I believe as well,” Celeborn agreed, “It was even a concern of King Elu’s and Queen Melian’s, in Doriath. Melian could sense the spirits’ dark presences and bar them entry into Doriath, but only if she knew where to look. The less powerful the evil spirit, the more likely it was to go unnoticed and be able to satisfy its foul urges unopposed. Galadriel and I both think it possible that the feeling of being threatened by something fearful which we experienced before abandoning our settlement in Evendim might have been caused by Sauron sending such spirits to menace us there. 

Faramir nodded intently at that, and recalled, “Mithrandir believed that those escaped spirits from Utumno had lingered on Middle Earth, but had remained only loosely in alliance with Sauron, or had even hidden from him, such that they may not have shared in his downfall.” 

“How very helpful of Mithrandir to have told only you so before he sailed,” Thranduil observed. Not that Thranduil had been on speaking terms with Mithrandir at that point, due to Mithrandir’s getting Legolas involved in the Fellowship of the Ring. 

“Yong-Min, the Spirit-Stealer, did not seem to recognize any authority outside himself,” Theli added, so quietly that Fileg kicked him and Thranduil made him repeat himself so that the rest of the table could hear. 

“I could see him as having been an ally of Sauron’s, for what benefit he might have gotten out of it for himself,” Theli continued, “But I can’t see him as anyone’s servant.” 

There was a moment of silence. 

“When I was a child in Umbar,” Sayyida began softly, although she seemed to know how to project her voice, “I met a Khandian man. I never learned his name. Oligarch Ruggiero just called him ‘my friend.’ I know that it was Oligarch Ruggiero hosting the Khandian man instead of Oligarch Efisio, whose guest the visitor actually was, because the Khandian man and Ruggiero had similar . . . tastes in vices. Oligarch Ruggiero’s and Oligarch Efisio’s servants and slaves called the Khandian visitor the ‘Body-Stealer.’ The Khandian visitor, when he first arrived, was plump and looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. Then, one night, twelve slaves were slain, and their bodies tossed to the harbor eels. The next morning the Khandian visitor was . . . in a different body.” 

“In a different body?” Haldir asked skeptically. 

“Let the lady speak, cousin Haldir,” Prince Imrahil interjected courteously but firmly. 

“I saw the Khandian visitor many times,” Sayyida told them solemnly, “In his retinue he had brought with him several slaves. One of them was a handsome Khandian youth, who looked so much like the Khandian visitor that Oligarch Ruggiero’s wife asked the visitor if the slave might be his illegitimate son. The Khandian visitor laughed at that, and said that the handsome youth was his future, not his son. On the morning after the twelve slaves were killed, the middle-aged Khandian body lay discarded in the slave quarters, barely breathing. The body of the young Khandian man now wore the same cruel expressions of the middle-aged Khandian visitor, the one whom Efisio and Ruggiero claimed as their friend. And the young Khandian man was after that night treated as ‘their friend,’ sleeping in his suite and indulging in . . . his vices. Ruggiero and Efisio also acted as if their ‘friend’ had never inhabited his old body. None of them even asked about the plump middle-aged Khandian man’s body, while it lay struggling for life in the slave quarters.” 

Thranduil had to struggle not to reach out to touch Theli, to reassure himself that his young friend and cousin was here and safe, and had never shared such a fate. General Rochendil on his King’s other side extended a hand to squeeze Thranduil’s leg reassuringly. 

Theli’s expression was unreadable and Elladan’s was troubled as Sayyida continued her story. 

“The oldest of Ruggiero’s and Efisio’s slaves, they remembered that a similar thing had happened once before,” Sayyida explained, “A middle-aged Khandian man came to visit, and then when he left, twelve more slaves were dead and he was in the skin of a beautiful young man. The ‘old’ body, the middle-aged one, had died the last time, the slaves recalled. The time that I was present for . . . the middle-aged Khandian man did not die, right away. He was very weak and his mind was half-broken, but he lived long enough to tell us how he had been kidnapped as a teenaged farmer. And how he had spent decades the prisoner of a cruel being who had controlled his body and reveled in his horror as his body was used against his will to do terrible things.” 

“A horrible fate,” Glorfindel observed solemnly, “and a terrible story to have to tell. Thank you for doing so, Lady Sayyida. Do you by any chance remember whether this ‘visitor’ whom the slaves called ‘the Body-Stealer’ returned to Khand, or stayed in Umbar?” 

“He left, and we all rested easier because he was gone, even Oligarch Efisio,” Sayyida replied evenly, “I have no reason to believe that he did not return to Khand. But I cannot say with a certainty that he did.” 

“Or whether he’ll return in another decade or so to have the Oligarchs of Umbar supply him with more slaves so that he can take over another body,” Faramir inferred, “But we can watch for that, at least. Now that we know what we’re watching for.” 

“And we are continuing to expand our contacts in Khand,” Dervorin reminded the gathering, “So maybe we’ll learn something there as well.” 

“Don’t rush that, lad,” Captain Ethiron warned his second. 

“I don’t ‘rush’ anything, Hir-nin,” Dervorin responded with an easy smile, “Things just tend to move quickly when me and my people are involved.” 

“One can hope somewhat less so, in the future,” Aragorn said quellingly, “Or at least that they will ‘move quickly’ without my son and Steward Faramir being personally involved.” 

“Oh, they’ll run smoother, at the least,” Dervorin confirmed with a crooked smile, before accusing his dear friend Faramir, “You so often messed up my plans.” 

“To your mutual benefit, my Dervorin,” Sayyida observed archly. 

“Well, yes, but it still wasn’t what I’d expected.” 

“Faramir’s unsanctioned adventures aside,” Glorfindel interrupted loudly, “Does anyone else have any other questions to ask of him and Dervorin, or of our four elven adventurers?” 

Thranduil admired that Glorfindel had gotten through that whole sentence without calling anyone a bloody idiot even once. 

Faramir and Dervorin exchanged a speaking look, then there was a knock at the door. 

“My apologies, my King, my Queen, and honored lords and ladies,” said Dervorin, “I believe that is one of my men. Hopefully with what I’d sent him to find.” 

“Lord Denethor wouldn’t have thrown those sketches away, Dev,” Faramir interjected soothingly, “so even if your lieutenant didn’t locate them today, I’m sure that they’re still in storage somewhere.” With an apologetic smile for his uncle, Faramir explained, “Lord Denethor had wanted to use the scrolls we are speaking of to blackmail Uncle Imrahil.” 

Discussion stopped as the door opened and a man in the uniform of a Gondorian lieutenant bowed, and then handed Dervorin a dusty scroll case. 

“What else did my father Adrahil do, that Denethor was planning to blackmail me over it?” Imrahil asked resignedly, as soon as the door had closed behind Dervorin’s departing officer. 

“Stole slaves from an honorable merchant in Khand, apparently,” Dervorin answered, after taking his seat and pulling several scrolls out of the case, “Under the name Diya.” 

Dervorin handed Faramir a scroll, with a sketch of a man who looked remarkably like Amrothos, to hand down to Imrahil. 

Going to the next scroll in the case, Dervorin asked, “And I assume that you were called the honorable merchant Ehsaan while in the South, Lord Elladan?” 

“Yes, I was. Among other names,” Elladan said, reaching out for the parchment Dervorin had extended. Glorfindel took it from Dervorin before it had a chance to get to Elladan, and set it down on the table so that all of the Imladris elves could see. 

“That is an exceptionally true likeness, muindor,” Elrohir observed uneasily. 

“It is,” Elladan had to agree, while Glorfindel quietly fumed and Erestor sat white-faced. 

“Healer Theli’s – pardon, I mean Lord Ecthelion’s likeness, isn’t bad either,” Dervorin observed, handing another sheet towards Theli, only to have it intercepted by Thranduil, who had longer arms. 

It was an excellent likeness of Theli. Based on the writing below the black and white portrait, it was also the Haradric equivalent of posting an ink sketch of a criminal in a guard station, to make it easier for guards and soldiers who had never personally seen a criminal to track him down.

Instead of speaking sharply to Theli or asking Dervorin pointed questions, Thrandil took a moment to calm himself. He read the name on the parchment and idly asked Theli, “Fadil? Really? Were there no Haradric names closer in sound to your own?” 

“No ‘th’ names in Haradric,” Theli confirmed, “An ‘F’ name was the closest sound I could get to Theli. And I only get called Ecthelion when I’m being a lord, or in trouble, so I didn’t want a name that sounded like that.” 

“I see,” Thranduil replied. Turning his attention to Dervorin and Faramir, Thranduil asked, “How widely were these images distributed?” 

“Throughout Harad, we believe,” Faramir answered sympathetically, “There is one of Sergeant Tarostar, also.” 

“One for each of the four of us who went to Khand, then,” Elladan concluded gravely. 

“You look enough like unto your grandfather Adrahil that I do believe we will cancel any travel plans to Harad for you, ion-nin,” Imrahil informed his youngest son Amrothos. 

“Oh, for Eru’s sake, Ada, aren’t those scrolls dated?” Amrothos said exasperatedly, “Anyone should be able to put together that Daerada is deceased or at least infirm by now, sadly enough. Well, sadly from our perspective.” 

“They aren’t dated,” Faramir counseled his cousin, “Normally such documents are, so that they can be taken out of circulation every few decades or so. However, with these, someone must have paid a great deal of money for them to be left undated. And regularly redistributed. That’s how our agents in Harad got a hold of them.” 

“I would advise you gentlemen against any extended stays in Harad or South Gondor,” Sayyida added, “A standard reward of a bag of silver is offered for the capture of a thief of slaves. It is custom that such a man is sold as a slave himself to pay that finder’s fee, and that the slave trader and the finder split any additional profit from the sale of that slave-liberator. It is also custom in Khand and Rhun to honor Harad’s legal decisions, although some of the dragon princes and Rhunnic chieftains utterly ignore that custom when they wish.”

“Do not worry, Lady Sayyida,” Erestor reassured Dervorin’s new wife firmly, “Journeying into the lands of our former Enemy will not be an option open to my son and his companions for quite some time. And, I would presume, not for Amrothos, either?” 

“Ada . . .” Amrothos complained to Imrahil. 

“We’ll discuss the matter further at a later time, ion-nin,” Imrahil answered. 

“But, Ada, you . . .” 

“Quit while you’re ahead, Amrothos,” Faramir fondly advised his cousin. 

With an indignant sigh, Amrothos did so. Glorfindel repeated his question about whether anyone else had anything to add. When there were no further demurrals, Aragorn concluded the meeting. 

As elves, Men, and dwarves rose from their seats and began a dozen different individual conversations, Glorfindel caught Thranduil’s eyes, and then nodded in the direction of a withdrawing chamber. 

*Why?* Thranduil queried silently, since he didn’t want to shout across half the room. 

*You, I, Erestor, and Celeborn should have a discussion as to consequences for our respective young idiots. As far as I am concerned, you may bring Rochendil with you, if you wish. Unless, of course, you have changed your mind and you would like to delegate the responsibility of Theli’s punishment to your cousin Celeborn . . .* 

*Fine. I’m coming. But I need to talk to Theli first,* Thranduil retorted. He thought that his younger cousin deserved at least a warning of what was to come. 

*Ten minutes, Thranduil.* 

*You are the most irritating elf, Captain,* Thranduil snapped back, from the safety of halfway across the room. 

*I know that you don’t like playing the disciplinarian, but you either have to do so now, or you need to let someone else do so for you,* Glorfindel said, not even seeming annoyed at Thranduil’s snappishness. 

Thranduil nodded to Glorfindel in reluctant acquiescence. He asked Rochendil to wait for him, then gestured for Theli to follow him into a small library adjoining the main meeting chamber. 

Just before he closed the door, Thranduil heard Glorfindel ask, “Faramir, Dervorin, and Ethiron – you will do your best to get these sketches taken OUT of circulation in the south and east, won’t you?” 

“It’s on our list,” Dervorin wearily confirmed. 

“Fairly high on our list,” Faramir agreed, before ordering, “Go get some sleep, Dev. You become grumpy and cynical when you’re over-tired.” 

“Ha! As if the reason why I’m tired isn’t due to you yourself, your highness!” 

Thranduil made a mental note to follow-up on the sketches with Glorfindel and Faramir, then turned his attention to the quietly waiting Theli. 

Theli gave him a hopeful smile, and confessed, “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” 

“I can’t completely say that I feel the same,” Thranduil countered honestly, thinking not just of what Elladan had told him and Glorfindel about Theli and the Spirit-Stealer, but also of the sketches of Theli and Elladan circulating through Harad. 

Then Thranduil reached out with one hand to squeeze Theli’s left shoulder firmly, “I am very serious about you not going back to Harad, Khand or Rhun, elfling cousin mine.” 

“As I’m not supposed to leave the Citadel complex without your leave,” Theli asked with a rueful but affectionate expression, “Then how am I going to go that far?” 

“Nice to know that you’ve been paying attention, I suppose,” Thranduil part-teased, part-praised, and part-admonished. 

With a frown of distaste, Theli added, “I don’t want to go back there. To any of those places. Not any time soon, anyway.” 

“Good,” Thranduil struggled with what to say next, then in the end decided to just bluntly warn Theli, “Glorfindel has charmingly extended an invitation for me to meet with the Elder Set, in order to determine what is to be done with you. All four of you.” 

Theli winced and then placed a hand over his eyes in dismay. 

“I thought that you’d want a warning,” Thranduil drawled, fighting sympathy for his new-found cousin despite Theli’s many foolish decisions 

“Thank you, I suppose,” Theli allowed with more trepidation than gratitude. After running his hand up his forehead and then smoothing his warrior braids, Theli asked, “I always hated how Celeborn wanted me to be on the same boat as him regarding punishing my little cousins when they’d done something wrong.” 

“Yes, that can be frustrating,” agreed Thranduil, who had been in much the same situation with cousin Celeborn when Thranduil’s fosterling Thalion had been about the same age as Celeborn’s adopted sons Orophin and Rumil. 

With a reminiscent smile, Theli added, “it was easier to work with you in the Greenwood, because we were usually in agreement that we wanted to get whatever punishment Thalion and my cousins had earned over as quickly as possible.” 

“I think that we should have gone harder on Haldir,” Thranduil decided in retrospect. 

“I don’t think that would have helped, Thranduil. I think he’s just bossy by nature.” 

“Bossy and priggish.” 

“He’s your cousin too, now.” 

“Right,” Thranduil conceded with a sigh, “Maybe I’ll try to work on that with him, later. But for now, I have enough to get on with Greenwood, my own elflings and grand-elfling, and my large and chaotic family. Which includes you.” 

“I make that list, eh?” Theli half-asked, half-concluded. Thranduil thought that Theli appeared torn between being touched and somewhat apprehensive. Which made sense, because Theli wasn’t stupid. 

“You’re on the list,” Thranduil agreed solemnly but fondly, before turning stern again, “And you’re probably going to be punished by me as your cousin Thranduil, and as your King. You broke your duties of obedience to me as my vassal lord, my soldier, my healer, and my subject. And you scared me, curse it all, Theli. Learning, during these past few days, about all these dangerous things you’ve done without anyone even knowing of it, has made me realize how much I - and our family - would have lost, if you had died far from home. I don’t want that to happen, or be at risk of happening, ever again. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure that it doesn’t. Do you understand, Theli mellon-nin?”

“Thranduil, that’s . . .” Theli began, but didn’t seem to know how to finish. At least he’d been listening, Thranduil supposed. 

With a wry smile, the King replied, “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Do help by having a care for yourself, won’t you?” 

Theli nodded determinedly, “I really will try my best. I promise that I will.” 

“That’s the most I can ask, I suppose. Just . . . do remember, when you go off on your own adventures, that you carry a number of hearts with you. Among them, Calenwen’s and my sons.’” And also Thranduil’s own, but he didn’t think that he actually needed to say that in order for Theli to understand that he meant it. 

“I’ll remember,” Theli pledged simply but earnestly. 

Thranduil reached out to squeeze his new-found cousin’s shoulder once again. Then, given the severity of the punishments which Theli might be facing soon – probably at least partly at Thranduil’s own hand – he pulled Theli into a firm embrace. 

The younger elf widened his eyes in surprise at first, but he didn’t reject the gesture. After a moment he even returned the hug, resting his head against Thranduil’s shoulder. 

Thranduil stepped back enough to get Theli to look up at him, while still keeping his young kinsman within the circle of his arms. 

“The next time we see one another,” Thranduil warned him, “I may be sitting in judgment of you as your King. But even though I will be speaking to you as my erring subject, you are still my friend, and my kinsman now too. It won’t change my esteem and affection for you. Do you understand?” 

Pale but determined, Theli nodded. After a pause, he added, “Yes, Thranduil. I understand.” 

Thranduil embraced his healer cousin tightly again, then released him with a friendly but authoritative, “Go on, then. Be about your duties. And be careful.” Thranduil had not forgot about the man Caelion and his strange behavior. 

With a slightly nervous but still insouciant smile, Theli agreed, “Yes, Cousin.” 

They walked out the door and almost ran into Glorfindel, who commanded Theli, “Don’t go too far, elfling.” 

“I am aware of his schedule, Glorfindel,” Thranduil countered with some asperity. Theli’s schedule and Teliemir’s notes on it had been amongst the documents which Teliemir had handed to Thranduil at the beginning of the briefing. Thranduil had read through them and then signed off on them during the slower parts of the meeting. 

Theli, for his part, side-stepped Glorfindel, and gave Thranduil a grin. Then he wisely made himself scarce.

Glorfindel gestured Thranduil towards one of the larger withdrawing rooms. Thranduil followed with a sigh, hoping that Theli understood what a sacrifice Thranduil was making on Theli’s behalf, by even just this once becoming a part of the ‘Elder Set.’ Thranduil disliked being ‘the elfling at the table,’ and in the midst of Glorfindel and Celeborn, he often found it hard not to feel that way.


	31. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, Erestor, Celeborn, and Thranduil discuss what consequences should be imposed on Theli, Elladan, Orophin, and Melpomaen for having gone on nine illicit (and highly dangerous) missions for the Wizard Gandalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg and General Rochendil, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories (please read all warnings). Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes chapter 31: 
> 
> “If you build the guts to do something, anything, then you better save enough to face the consequences.” ― Criss Jami 
> 
> “When you choose an action, you choose also the consequences of that action. When you desire a consequence, you had damned well better take the action that would create it.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold
> 
> “I am sorry my decisions do not meet with your approval, but nevertheless, they are mine, and the consequences are also mine.” ― Rachel Caine 
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 30: 
> 
> Glorfindel caught Thranduil’s eyes, and then nodded in the direction of a withdrawing chamber. 
> 
> *Why?* Thranduil queried silently, since he didn’t want to shout across half the room. 
> 
> *You, I, Erestor, and Celeborn should have a discussion as to consequences for our respective young idiots.*

With Rochendil at his side, Thranduil joined his elders in the sun-lit withdrawing room. The chamber was redolent of parchment and inks, from the scroll shelves full of maps lining the walls. Erestor, Celeborn, and Haldir were already seated at the round table in the center of the room. 

Glorfindel waved Rochendil and Thranduil towards seats of their own, then turned his assessing gaze on Haldir. 

“We are not in need of your assistance today, Haldir,” Glorfindel informed Celeborn’s heir, his tone adamant but not unkind.

“Ada said that I might join you, Captain Glorfindel,” Haldir countered respectfully, “And I would like to remain, so that I can be sure that my brother’s bravery, as well as his misdeeds, are taken into account.” 

“Thranduil will ensure that it will be so, in respect of all four of them,” Glorfindel assured Haldir, “You may safely leave that advocacy to him.” 

Silver-blond Haldir looked to Thranduil, his dark chestnut brown eyes filled with both question and concern. Thranduil tipped his head solemnly to confirm Glorfindel’s assertion. 

Haldir nodded back to Thranduil. Then he bowed and took his leave, accepting his dismissal with every appearance of good grace. 

Thranduil felt a little sorry for Celeborn’s oldest adopted son on one level, but mostly he was glad that the younger elf wouldn’t be part of this discussion. Haldir was half an age younger than Thranduil, in fact he was nearly as young as Theli’s recently-revealed true age. But when he was with elven elders he tended to behave respectfully, but also to presume that he was their equal in some sense. Thranduil could take being spoken of – and to - as if he were an elfling by Glorfindel and even Celeborn, albeit not without some sarcastic form of protest. But he did not want Haldir to join in a bloc with any of the elders as they attacked Thranduil’s position of moderation. 

Thranduil also didn’t really want to be here at all, but he’d accepted it as a consequence of his promise to look out for Theli. If Elrond had still been on Middle Earth, Thranduil might have considered leaving the matter to Elrond, whom Theli had trusted, and had felt comfortable accepting guidance from. 

Nor was this the first time that Thranduil had found himself missing Elrond. His older peredhel cousin had often played the role of mediator and bridge between the younger Thranduil and Middle Earth’s older elven leaders. 

Thinking of Elrond made Thranduil decide that a preemptive offense might be the best defense to a discussion which he already suspected wasn’t going to go entirely his way. 

“If Elrond were here,” Thranduil laid out his opening argument to the group of his elders, “He would make an appeal for leniency for Theli, Orophin, Elladan, and Melpomaen. Despite their stupidity. In his absence, I’d like to argue that some clemency is called for.” 

Glorfindel appeared neither surprised nor pleased by Thranduil’s advocacy of his younger cousins. Rochendil’s expression was politely thoughtful, but Thranduil could tell that his general was a little amused, and even somewhat sympathetic to Thranduil’s position. 

Celeborn’s response fell somewhere between Glorfindel’s and Rochendil’s. Despite Celeborn’s stern mien, there was a softness to his emerald eyes which made Thranduil realize that he hadn’t entirely disappointed his oldest cousin by speaking his mind. 

Erestor, on the other hand, was clearly dubious. 

“Thranduil,” the elegant ellon reproved sternly but politely, “if you think that my gwador Elrond would be lenient, when it was his own son, heart-nephew, beloved brother-by-law, and favored protegee who were risking their lives in such a flagrantly dangerous and reckless matter, then I believe that you have not thought through his reaction very well! In fact . . .” 

Thranduil was tempted to make a sarcastic reply, but the sudden pressure of Rochendil’s ankle pressed against his own stopped him. And the King was glad, as otherwise he would have missed the unusual sight of Glorfindel staring his grandson into silence. 

Once the eloquent Erestor had stopped speaking with a look of astonishment, Glorfindel said forcefully, “It is not a matter of lenience as opposed to straightness. It is a question of what our younger ones need, to help them avoid such dangerous and ill-thought out decisions in the future.” 

Erestor sighed and then conceded that, “You are correct, Anatar. I beg your pardon.” 

Addressing the table more generally, Erestor added, “There is also the matter of what our settlements’ respective laws require in response to their actions. However, Anatar and I think that we may be able to put that mostly aside in this case. Or, at the least, satisfy it in other ways.” 

“I am willing to hear you out, Glorfindel, Erestor,” Celeborn offered, “and I am sure that everyone else is, as well.” 

Thranduil, who was pretty sure that the latter part of that comment was directed only at him, drawled, “You can just use my name, if you’d like, cousin Cel.” 

“And here I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to, elfling-cousin-mine,” Celeborn replied with a partly disappointed but also partly amused expression. 

“Perhaps,” Glorfindel suggested dryly, “Thranduil would be willing to wait and hear what I have to say, so that he only needs to expend his efforts arguing with the points which he actually disagrees with. Just to save time.” 

Equally dryly, Thranduil responded, “I think I can manage that. I certainly don’t want to spend any more time on this than is absolutely necessary.” 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” Glorfindel recognized, without Thranduil being able to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Then the Balrog-Slayer turned his attention to Erestor, and sternly requested of his beloved grandson, “I expect the same courtesy from you, daerion-nin.” 

The normally imperturbable Erestor’s mouth dropped open in shock. He spluttered for a moment, then responded in a wounded tone of voice, “Why do you think that I would show you discourtesy, Anatar? I always value what you have to say!” 

Glorfindel laughed fondly, “If only it was so. To be fair, you are usually the soul of courtesy, my heart. But you have an absolute bone-deep irrational response to your son being in danger. That’s a good thing, in some ways. However, it has already been detrimental, in this instance. I would like to make sure that our unified response is more productive, going forward.” 

Clearly taken aback, Erestor answered in a forced tone of voice, “Yes, Anatar.” The next youngest elf at the table after Thranduil appeared to be torn between chagrin and insult. 

Thranduil, for his part, was enjoying not being the only elf to be called out by name and preemptively rebuked. 

“I have decided,” Glorfindel announced forthrightly, “that Elladan and Melpomaen will be confined to the grounds of Imladris for the next nine years. We will certainly return to Gondor within that time, so when we are in Minas Tirith, they will not be allowed to venture outside the Citadel complex. And if they are some other place, they must be in the presence of myself, Erestor, Elrohir, or select others. They may only leave their specified boundaries with permission. And, depending on the circumstances, also with a trustworthy armed companion. Or with as many trustworthy armed companions as I deem appropriate.” 

Celeborn appeared to be mulling that idea over, as if it was worthy of genuine consideration. 

“For nine years?” Thranduil asked dubiously, “That seems excessive.” 

“To the contrary,” Erestor rebutted firmly, “I believe that ninety-nine years would be more appropriate.” 

“Which is why I stopped asking you, Erestor,” Glorfindel said patiently, then continued, “Elrohir has agreed to the nine years’ confinement, as Lord of Imladris. This is not to say that I expect Elladan, in particular, to be kept entirely within the grounds of Imladris and the Citadel for nine years. What I do expect, is for my most obstreperous grandson-of-the-heart to learn to ask for help when he needs it. And for him to learn to explain where he wants – or needs – to go, and why. He failed to do so nine times, and by so doing put himself and his companions in great danger. Not to mention putting his loved ones in peril of losing him, and his companions, to death or imprisonment in foreign lands.” 

Glorfindel paused, as if to allow time for questions. Then he continued, “I would strongly recommend that the same measures be applied to Orophin and Ecthelion. Even if the terms require some modification.” 

Thranduil remained unconvinced. 

Celeborn, on the other hand, nodded thoughtfully, and allowed, “A confinement such as that would be very difficult for Orophin, particularly given the diplomatic duties he performs for me throughout Middle Earth. I refuse to wound him again by removing him from a position he values, for all that I am furious with him for what he’s done. However, I could put Captain Sendoron in charge of Orophin’s and his family’s safety, and have him travel with them. For every excursion outside of his official duties, Orophin would have to ask Sendoron’s permission and satisfy his standards of personal safety. Yes, that could work.” 

“It would also appease Sendoron, who is currently incoherently angry with Orophin,” Glorfindel pointed out. 

Thranduil himself rejoiced inwardly at Captain Sendoron’s discomfiture, despite the unfortunate events which had brought it about. The King wondered if Rochendil felt the same way, even if he was too mature and polite to show it. 

“I was concerned about that,” Celeborn said aggravatedly, “and apparently, Sendoron has been more honest with you, Glorfindel, than with me. Which perhaps should not surprise me.” 

“He knows that you have a limited tolerance for his temper, Celeborn,” Glorfindel explained levelly, “He wanted to wait until he could speak to you calmly.” 

“As Sendoron’s temper was so often aimed at me during the first several thousand years he spent upon Middle Earth, that makes some sense,” Celeborn remarked in an exasperated fashion, although Thranduil noted a glint of humor in his emerald eyes.

“How did you end up with so many elves who had it in for you as part of your retinue, Cousin Cel?” Thranduil asked, in part because he was curious, and concerned on Celeborn’s behalf, and in part to put off the issue at hand. 

“They were part of Galadriel’s household,” Celeborn reminded Thranduil with affection and patience, “I love my wife, and I wished for her to have loyal retainers. No matter how much they went out of their way to vex me. My dear wife, for her part, did remove anyone who was directly impolite to me from her service. And they stayed removed for at least a dozen years. That eventually resulted in an armed truce.” 

“I can see Galadriel doing that,” Glorfindel agreed, his tone turning wry but also fond as he continued, “’Tani never did have much patience for in-fighting. She might have done better in Doriath had my wife Laureamoriel stayed with her. You and I could have gotten on well enough together, Celeborn, I expect. And Sendoron would have been happier serving Turgon. But Sendoron’s wife Ilcetiel would not leave your lady, and I wouldn’t leave Turgon. I was young then.” 

“And your King Turgon needed you greatly,” Celeborn agreed solemnly, “Everything worked out well in the end, Glorfindel, and your efforts on behalf of Elrond and all of my family have certainly contributed to that. Nothing else truly matters now, save doing what we can to rectify the past.” In a pained voice Celeborn added, “Which I must do in respect to my neglect of Ecthelion, if nothing else.” 

“I don’t think that you were that neglectful,” Thranduil countered bluntly, “And I don’t think that confining Theli to the grounds of the North Hall or the grounds of Emyn Estel will be that helpful. He’d hate that, he needs to be free to wander the Wood as much . . . as much as I do. And he’s suffered enough,” Thranduil finished resolutely. 

*That last statement was a mis-step, student-mine. At least, if you are planning to keep Ecthelion’s and Elladan’s secrets concerning what happened in Khand,* Glorfindel’s silent voice said into Thranduil’s mind in a warning golden grumble. 

“I mean,” Thranduil rapidly corrected himself, upon recognizing that Glorfindel was right and that Thranduil had successfully attracted Celeborn’s intently questioning gaze with his last remark, “that Theli has been alone, save for his cousins and his friends and mentors. Us being overly-strict with him now, as his family, won’t help him learn to trust us.” 

Glorfindel removed the somewhat crumpled sketch of Elladan out of his tunic, and threw it onto the table. 

“And your point with that is?” Thranduil queried him impatiently. 

“How many slave catchers travel into Gondor to ply their cruel trade in a year, Thranduil, do you think?” Glorfindel asked him sharply, “Slave-catchers who would also happily capture a ‘criminal’ liberator of slaves?” 

“I don’t know,” Thranduil had to admit, “But I do imagine that Aragorn and Faramir do their best to discourage that kind of thing.” 

“Yes, they do,” Erestor spoke up helpfully, “Gondor imposes a sentence of a lifetime in prison for a slave-catcher. Or even an execution, if it can be proven that the slave-catcher’s actions were intended to result in the death or severe injury of a recaptured slave. Of course, servants and family members of slave-catchers, if their own personal crimes are judged lesser, can receive only a short sentence of labor and rehabilitation.” 

“And despite that,” Glorfindel expounded in a deadly serious tone of voice, “The re-capture of slaves is still a practice which Dol Amroth’s anti-piracy patrols and Faramir’s Ithilien border patrols encounter every year in the course of their duties. I don’t want Elladan wandering about alone, in part because I don’t want to worry about some cruel idiot trying to collect on that,” Glorfindel finished, with a disgusted wave at the discarded sketch. 

“Point,” Thranduil had to allow, “Curse it all. I do want Theli safe. Rochendil?” 

“I had thought,” the Greenwood’s senior military officer began pensively, “that his sentence of twelve years’ confinement following the . . . other incident, had made an impression on Ecthelion. Given that the first thing he did once he was free to travel again was to accompany Orophin and Elladan into Rhun and Mordor, perhaps it did not.” 

“Ecthelion did try to warn me first, Rochendil,” Celeborn reminded him. 

“Not hard enough,” Thranduil judged, “But if limiting his freedom of movement is needed for Theli’s own protection, I can put up with his unhappiness.” 

Rochendil sighed, then said in reluctant support of the idea, “I think that such a consequence will, at the least, make Ecthelion feel as if he has been punished. And he could certainly use additional lessons in asking for help when he needs it. He did not always do that well, during his last confinement. This would be another opportunity for him to learn that lesson. Also, levying upon him the same punishment as his companions would make the point that we do not value his life less than theirs.” 

“There is that, I suppose,” Thranduil had to concede unhappily, “but I reserve the right to let him off early if his behavior warrants it.” 

Glorfindel tapped the image of Elladan on the table, to again call attention to it, and all of its frightening implications. 

“But maybe not to the point of letting him have complete freedom of movement in the human kingdoms,” Thranduil amended. 

“Good idea,” Glorfindel recognized blandly, “Now, as to more immediate consequences . . .” 

Thranduil suppressed a protest as the Balrog-Slayer continued, “I intend to spend a day with all four of them going over everything that could have gone disastrously wrong for them in Enemy lands. And how they could have handled matters better, both on their own, and with the assistance and guidance they SHOULD have asked for.” 

“I’m sure that they’ll all enjoy that,” Thranduil commented ironically, “But I don’t disagree that it will be helpful to them.” 

“How reassuring, student-mine,” Glorfindel replied in a studiedly patient tone, “Erestor intends to have both Elladan and Melpomaen write letters to Elrond to be sent to him in the West, explaining what they’ve done and why they now understand their decisions to have been unwise. I believe that would be a useful exercise for Orophin and Ecthelion, as well. Elrond was very fond of both of them.” 

“I concur,” said Celeborn, “Given that it was in part my failure to listen which led to this situation, I would like to meet with each of the four of them individually. Nothing formal, and no lectures. They’re getting enough of that, I think.” 

“You want to have Theli over for tea?” Thranduil asked bemusedly. 

“Yes, elfling-mine. I do,” Celeborn confirmed. 

“He spills things sometimes,” Thranduil thought it was only fair to point out. 

“I will not melt, Thranduil muin-nin,” Celeborn said, the sides of his mouth quirking into a smile, “And I would happily accept that consequence in order to reconnect with Ecthelion.” 

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at Thranduil, and then informed him, “I am sure that you will find some task for Ecthelion and the others to do for you, Thranduil.” 

“What? Why would I do that?” Thranduil asked, completely nonplussed. 

“Nine incredibly perilous journeys,” Glorfindel reemphasized, “would suggest to me that nine punishments for each of them would be appropriate.” 

“Eight for Melpomaen,” Erestor interrupted. 

The Balrog-Slayer nodded to that, and then focused his attention on Thranduil again, “A remedial strategy lesson from me. A letter writing exercise with Erestor. Tea . . . with Celeborn,” Glorfindel finished with disapproval, as if he didn’t think that Celeborn’s plan was punishment enough. 

Thranduil sighed resignedly, “So you expect me to come up with a punishment, as well?” 

“One for all of them, and a second for Ecthelion,” Glorfindel continued mercilessly, “As you are both his elder kinsman and his King, Thranduil. And I also expect you to find four other authority figures in his life to chastise him.” 

“You’re really stuck on this number nine theme, aren’t you?” Thranduil asked snidely, then made a half-hearted apology when everyone gave him a disappointed look, and Rochendil kicked his ankle. 

“I would like a word with Ecthelion,” Rochendil said diplomatically, “And I know that Teliemir and Linwe have some words for him, as well. Nestorion and Elder Nestaeth will likely also desire to do what they can to discourage Ecthelion from ever even contemplating similar actions again.” 

“Fine, fine,” Thranduil conceded irritably, “But I will put a stop to that, if it’s too much for Theli.” 

“My elfling,” Rochendil gently rebuked his king, “I care for Ecthelion, as do Teliemir, Linwe, Nestorion, and Nestaeth. No one wishes to make him feel berated, or despairing. Try to have a little faith in us.” 

Thranduil sighed, and then said sincerely, “I do have faith, in all of you.” 

Now Thranduil just had to figure out how to punish all three of his younger cousins (and Melpomaen). Oh, and Theli again a second time. Thranduil was not looking forward to any of that. 

The ‘consequences’ meeting between the ‘Elder Set’ – and Thranduil – finally wound to a close, to Thranduil’s relief. 

Before he left the room, Thranduil was stopped by Celeborn. 

“You did well, Thranduil,” Celeborn complimented him. 

Despite his unhappiness with the severity of the sentences, and his determination to be a mature and self-sufficient King, that still made Thranduil smile. Although the King’s sense of fairness obliged him to point out that, “I nearly got myself into trouble with you ‘older-than-dirt’ elves more times than I kept count of, Cousin Cel. 

Celeborn’s emerald eyes reflected exasperated mirth at Thranduil’s long-time term for elves whose births pre-dated the breaking of Beleriand, a common set of emotions for Celeborn when Thranduil used the term ‘older than dirt.’ But Celeborn’s voice was serious and warm as he countered, “You nearly did. But you stopped yourself, every time. I’m proud of you, for that.” 

“Well, thank you then,” Thranduil replied with a pleased sparkle in his sapphire eyes, before departing with Rochendil. 

Rochendil patted Thranduil on the shoulder after the door to the withdrawing chamber closed behind them, letting Thranduil knew that he was proud, also. 

Immediately after that, Thranduil noticed a concerned Legolas keeping company with Fileg, That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimili, and several others, and went to reassure his son, barely even noting Rochendil’s reason for departing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
> 
> I would love to hear from you if you are still enjoying this story! The kudos button only works once per story, so the only way that I really know if people are still reading with longer stories is if they leave a comment, even a one word 'kudos' comment, lol. Thank you for reading either way!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of the Greenwood sentences Lord Ecthelion Diorchil for his illicit errands on the Wizard’s behalf. Afterward, Thranduil and Theli have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, friend Linwe, and General Rochendil, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes chapter 32: 
> 
>  
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 31: 
> 
> The ‘consequences’ meeting between the ‘Elder Set’ – and Thranduil – finally wound to a close, to Thranduil’s relief. 
> 
> . . . 
> 
> Immediately after leaving the meeting room, Thranduil noticed a concerned Legolas keeping company with Fileg, That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimili, and several others, and went to reassure his son.

Thranduil managed to put off Legolas’ questions until the King was alone with his two sons in his sitting room. 

Soon enough, Thranduil would have to explain to his officers and close confidantes what Theli’s consequences would be, as well as sentence his friend himself. But first he thought it best to advise his youngest son in private as to what chastisements Theli would face, in order to give Legolas a chance to voice his objections in front of only a familial audience. 

“Nine years . . . it seems unfair, Ada. I’m still upset with Theli, but he was just trying to help Orophin and the others,” Legolas protested. 

“Yes, laes-nin, but he chose – repeatedly – to do so in a manner which was reckless and unwise. The point of all of this is primarily to keep Theli safe,” Thranduil assured his dubious and concerned son, “First, from anyone who might seek to capture him for having once liberated slaves in Khand. But also to keep him safe from making similarly foolish and dangerous decisions in the future.” 

Legolas sighed, and then said as if comforting himself, “Well, Theli always did say that I was lucky, after I’d been punished by him, you, and Thalion.” 

“He did?” queried the baffled Thalion. 

At the same time Thranduil asked more neutrally, “Oh?” 

Legolas smiled half-heartedly, “He counseled me that I was lucky to have so many elves who cared enough about me to take me to task, so that I would be more careful in the future.” 

“Well,” said Thalion kindly, while placing a supportive hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder, “Let us hope that he is still of that opinion!” 

Thranduil hoped so, too. 

Thranduil, Legolas and Thalion met with General Rochendil, Captain Teliemir, Linwe (present as another senior Captain), and Fileg (standing in as a member of Thranduil’s council). Even as reluctant as Thranduil was to increase the number of elves who were privy to Theli’s sentencing, he felt the need to include Lothgail (as his heir after Legolas) and Fileg’s oldest nephew Mychanar (because even an informal sentencing did require a scribe). 

Somewhat to Thranduil’s disappointment, none of his advisors contended any of the elements of Theli’s sentence. At least not beyond sympathetic expressions and Fileg’s comment of, ‘poor elfling.’ 

Since it was already close to the hour when Theli was due to return from the House of Healing, Thranduil took advantage of having so many of his advisors present to run through a number of issues which had arisen in the Greenwood during his absence. Nothing urgent, but still well worth discussing. Unfortunately, none of Thranduil’s advisors knew why the lords and elders of northern Greenwood had taken offense to an offer of potatoes to supplement their poor harvest any more than Thranduil himself did. 

When Theli arrived back at the Greenwood guest apartment after his early afternoon rounds at the House of Healing, Thranduil had Fileg and Belegur catch him at the entry way. 

Fileg returned alone to quietly confirm, “He’s as ready as he’ll be. I gave Belegur leave to stay beside him.” 

“Have them come in, then,” Thranduil said, straightening in his chair. 

The King was still wearing the same embroidered black silk tunic and gray suede leggings which he had donned for the morning briefing. Normally he would have dressed more formally to sit in judgement of someone. But the only record which would be kept of this sentencing would be consigned to the King’s confidential files, which were only accessible to high-ranking advisors of Thranduil’s court, Elders of the Wood (and their most trusted deputies), and members of the royal family itself. No one in that group would be bothered about whether Thranduil had observed all the formalities. 

In the Greenwood’s North Hall, Thranduil would have issued an informal sentence in his audience chamber. It was far less intimidating and expansive than the North Hall’s famous throne room, but it was still an elegant space with a small throne, seating beside the King for his advisors, and a dais for any audience or witnesses whom Thranduil or his advisors wanted to invite. 

Given the space constraints of their apartment in the King’s House, Thranduil and his advisors were seated at the dining room table when Fileg led Theli and Belegur into the room. Theli was clad in an open sky-blue healer’s robe over a seal-brown linen tunic, a cream-colored undershirt, and dark blue leggings. His ash-blond hair was wet from bathing, although Thranduil noted with approval that it was still styled in the morning’s warrior braids. 

Theli’s expression was calm but resigned, which Thranduil found reassuring. Well, at least in contrast to how shaky his friend had been the previous evening. 

When Theli was about to nod in respect, which Thranduil in most circumstances preferred, Thranduil silently signaled him to *Bow, Theli. I know that you think it’s silly, and I usually think it’s silly, too. But it is the appropriate gesture of respect in this situation.* 

Theli obeyed that direction without too much in the way of clumsiness. Thranduil idly noted it as something else to work on as Theli finished bowing and stood up straight to meet his King’s eyes again. 

Fileg took his seat to Thranduil’s left, Healer Belegur, as directed, stayed at Theli’s side to provide emotional support. 

Thranduil resisted the impulse to utterly ruin even the appearance of a real sentencing by saying, ‘We all know why we’re here. Let’s get it over with, shall we?’ 

Instead, he asked as kindly as he could, “Ecthelion Diorchil, are you prepared to hear Our judgement?” 

“Yes, Aran-nin,” Theli replied, his voice a little strained. Then he paused, as if startled, and said, “I mean, yes, I am, but that’s not my name!” 

“It is now,” Thranduil informed his cousin briskly, “You can take up the matter with our kinsman Lord Celeborn, if you’d like.” Thranduil didn’t actually say, ‘and good luck with that,’ but he thought that his tone implied it well enough. 

Theli tilted his head with a puzzled expression, as if he didn’t know quite what to say to that. 

Since his younger cousin didn’t really need to say anything about his new patronymic, but probably ought to sit down for the rest of his sentencing, Thranduil went ahead and ruined some of the solemnity of the occasion by saying, “You might as well sit, Theli. And you as well, Belegur.” 

The two took seats at the far end of the table, with Belegur staying close to Theli. 

“Ecthelion Diorchil,” Thranduil began, “you are Our valued and most loyal servant, three times over. You serve Us as a Lord of the Greenwood by Our appointment, as a royal healer in long-time loyal service to Our household, and as a former soldier in Our army, one with a history of notable bravery and self-sacrifice. In accepting a role in the Wizard Mithrandir’s ventures without first advising Us and begging Our leave, you have violated the duty of obedience which you owe to Us as Our vassal lord, Our healer, and Our sometimes-soldier.” 

“I . . . I understand, Aran-nin,” Theli accepted quietly and sincerely, “I understand now that . . . that acting as I did was a mistake. A series of mistakes, I mean. I’m sorry for failing in my duties of loyalty to you . . .”

“Obedience,” Thranduil interrupted, “Not loyalty. On the contrary, loyalty to an excess is a weakness of yours.” 

“Yes, Aran-nin,” Theli agreed with a blush. 

“Do keep that in mind,” Thranduil reprimanded mildly, before reassuming his stern, kingly mien and declaring, “Your punishment for your failings of obedience to Us is two part. First, you will be confined for nine years to the grounds of Our North Hall in the Greenwood, or to the grounds of Our future capital of Emyn Estel in the mountains when We are in residence there.” 

Theli gasped at that, but Thranduil persisted nonetheless, “You may only venture outside the grounds of these places if you have asked for – and been granted - Our leave to do so. Or, alternatively, if you have obtained the leave of someone whom We have designated for such purpose.”

When Theli’s only response was gob-smacked silence, Thranduil paused to ask, “Do you understand this restriction, Ecthelion?”

“Yes,” Theli answered in a small, pained voice, his expressive midnight blue eyes radiating deep unhappiness. 

“Very well,” Thranduil resumed, troubled by Theli’s misery, but unsure what to do about it in the moment. 

“Aran-nin, if I may?” Rochendil asked. 

Thranduil waved for his mentor to go ahead. 

“Ecthelion, the main reason for this part of your sentence is to ensure your own safety,” Rochendil told Theli in a caring but stern tone, “That sketch of your face puts you in jeopardy in any place where Men of Harad or Khand might travel.” 

“Oh,” Theli said, not looking much reassured. 

Belegur put his hand on Theli’s shoulder. 

Thranduil resisted the urge to walk over and do the same. Instead he broke with formality enough to say bracingly, “Theli, we’re going to keep you safe. I promise you that. But to do so, we’re going to need your help. For now, don’t go anywhere outside the Citadel without advising someone in this room. Will you do that for me?” 

“I . . . yes, I will,” Theli agreed shakily but earnestly, “I’m sorry that . . . that you have to.” 

“I don’t ‘have to’ do anything,” Thranduil retorted brusquely, “You’re being confined for your own safety, because I want you safe and everyone else wants you safe, too.”

Thranduil didn’t add ‘you idiot’ to the end of that statement, but it took some effort not to do so. Instead he continued, “And you’re also being confined because you used your previous freedom of movement to go to Rhun, Mordor, Harad, and Khand without permission. Nine years should give you ample time to reflect on the foolishness of that.” 

Theli nodded bravely, and then conceded in a way which made it clear that he was trying valiantly to hide deep misery, “Yes. I imagine that it will.” 

Hardening his heart to Theli’s sorrow and distress, Thranduil continued, “You will also be punished, as will your comrades, by offering at least an hour but no more than a day of your time, at their discretion, to nine different persons.” 

Theli’s heart-shaped face paled at that. Thranduil didn’t blame him. The King hated to have to do this, but he pressed on because the sooner it was all said, the better. 

“One hour due to me, as your King, and another due to me, as your elder kinsman,” Thranduil detailed unwaveringly, “One hour or one day to each of Lords Celeborn and Erestor, and one to Captain Glorfindel, as payment for endangering the lives of your friends, as well as your own life.” 

Thranduil paused and cursed inwardly as Theli recoiled minutely at the mention of Celeborn’s and Erestor’s roles in his upcoming chastisements.

The King waited until after the younger elf had taken a deep breath to calm himself before continuing, “As at least one of the illicit errands you embarked upon took place while you were in Our Army as Our soldier, two hours or days of your time will be spent at General Rochendil’s order.” 

Theli’s flinch at that was even less visible than his previous reaction to Celeborn’s and Erestor’s names, but it still gave Thranduil pause. 

In to the quiet Rochendil explained firmly but not unkindly, “Ecthelion, your misdeeds constituted a flawed report to your then-commander, Captain Eriston, regarding the purported ‘diplomatic matter which required your attention.’” 

“I purposely misled him, Sir, into thinking that my errand was at the behest of either Prince Legolas or King Thranduil,” Theli confessed, “I can’t recall what type of infraction that constitutes, to be honest.” 

Thranduil didn’t really doubt that. He knew that Theli was intimately familiar with the terms of insubordination (as had Thranduil himself been, when he was younger). He also knew that Theli had received knocks for delays in notifying his superiors of field promotions that he’d made. Insufficient reporting more generally, on the other hand, had not been a failing of Theli’s as an officer. 

Thranduil’s eyes briefly met Rochendil’s, who it seemed was thinking along much the same lines, because the general’s tone was patient (albeit still stern) as he instructed, “Then you will trust me when I tell you that it constituted a flawed report, Soldier Diorchil, because it was misleading. As your actions in Mordor were not authorized by your King, you are also culpable of having been absent without leave from your post. Going into Mordor in search of intelligence, and engaging in combat there, we judge to have been reckless personal endangerment. So, you have that to answer for, as well.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Theli agreed, between measured breaths. 

Rochendil waited until Theli had given him that verbal confirmation, then instructed his former soldier in an inflexible yet also solicitous tone, “Given that you were under Captain Teliemir’s command for longer than Captain Eriston’s, you will answer to Captain Teliemir for your infractions. As well as to me, and to Elder Dirnaith.” 

Theli took a deep breath and then nodded to that, seeming too overwhelmed to respond in words. 

Thranduil, resolved to bring this excruciating (for Theli) interview to an end, then told him, “You also owe an hour or a day to Master Healer Nestorion, as chief royal healer and your supervisor, and to Elder Nestaeth, as your guildmistress. After those sessions are completed, you shall meet with me one last time, and then we will consider this matter closed. Do you understand?” 

“I . . . I understand, Aran-nin,” Theli confirmed, his voice strained but steady. 

“Very well,” Thranduil recognized, before softening his tone as he added, “I understand that the terms of your sentence may seem harsh to you, and I am sorry for that. Nevertheless, I expect you to submit to your discipline with good grace. May I rely upon you for that?” 

Theli couldn’t entirely conceal a grimace, but he still managed to promise, “I will do my best to accept all of my punishments well. I want to do my best not to disappoint you, truly,” Theli finished, his last assurance aimed more at Thranduil personally. 

“You rarely disappoint me, Ecthelion,” Thranduil allowed, infusing his tone with his genuine affection for, and pride in, Theli.

Theli’s ramrod stiff posture eased a little at that, and a very small smile played about his lips, albeit for just a moment. 

With no small amount of relief, Thranduil declared, “Your unofficial hearing has now come to a close, Lord Ecthelion. Lord Mychanar will be entering the record of your sentencing, and your acceptance of such sentence, into our kingdom’s confidential archives. It will not be made general public knowledge. However, your efforts and your comrades’ efforts on behalf of the Wizard Mithrandir will be made public.” That had also been decided during the meeting of the ‘Elder Set plus Thranduil.’ 

For purposes of Theli specifically, Thranduil had additionally determined that, “Ecthelion, you will be responsible for explaining the relevant intelligence and diplomatic ramifications of your actions to the Greenwood’s Council.” 

“Oh. Um, can I ask for help, preparing for that?” Theli requested uncertainly. 

“You may,” Thranduil allowed, and silently praised, *and well done to you for asking.* 

Theli managed a shy, grateful smile. 

Addressing the rest of his advisors, Thranduil said, “I thank you all for your time and trouble. We will reconvene tomorrow afternoon to finish discussing the Greenwood matters. And to continue reviewing the drafts of the amendments to our current treaties with Gondor and Arnor, and with Rohan.” 

Little did Theli know, but Thranduil was planning to have him join in on those discussions. As one of Thranduil’s junior advisors, Theli would have been qualified to have done so earlier, with Thranduil’s or Legolas’ leave. And he had joined Thranduil’s other council meetings, when requested to, or clearly expected to. But Theli had always preferred to leave matters of government alone as much as he could. And that was no longer an option for him. 

Thranduil rather looked forward to the prospect of further including his new cousin in the affairs of his kingdom. Theli had creative ideas and a sound grasp on bargaining. Once he got his feet truly under him in the council chamber, the King expected that he might well be an asset. 

Thranduil pulled Theli alone aside into his bedchamber and gestured for him to be seated on the bed. 

“Theli,” Thranduil began, kneeling before his cousin and placing a hand over Theli’s right hand, “I am sorry for all of this, mellon-nin. It is only because you are so important to us that we have determined to be so straight with you. It is not meant to hurt you or shame you.” 

Theli gave him a wan but game half-smile, “I know that, Thranduil, because it’s you. Thank you for telling me, though.” 

The young elf looked down with a wince, then looked back up at Thranduil again and said dolefully, “I think it will be hard to remember that, sometimes. You know, for a while.” 

“I know that it will,” Thranduil said almost tenderly, “Please do me a favor, and tell me when you feel that way, won’t you?” 

“I will,” Theli promised softly. Then he inquired worriedly, “Thranduil, how angry do you think Master Healer Elrond would be with me? Or will be, I mean. When he hears about it in the West. For my taking Elladan, Orophin, and Melpomaen into trouble?” 

“From everything I’ve heard,” Thranduil observed wryly, “It was Elladan and Orophin taking you and Melpomaen into trouble, rather than the other way around.” 

In a softer tone, Thranduil added, “I think that Elrond will be more worried for you than angry with you, Theli. He knows better than anyone how persuasive and daring Elladan can be. I think that he will also be grateful for how mightily you strove to keep his son and the others from harm.” 

Theli considered that for a moment, his expression lightening. 

Glad to have given his cousin that much consolation at least, Thranduil suggested, “Perhaps you would benefit from a lie-down before dinner? Belegur and Galad have told me that they will cover your afternoon classes. And it will not hurt you to skip out on arms practice, not just today.” 

“I . . . yes, that would probably be good.” Theli took off his tunic and boots and laid down. 

Thranduil sat down beside Theli on the bed and asked, “Would you like to hear the rest of the story about my wolf Lagor, and how he made especially good friends with my father’s favorite wolfhound? Much better friends than we had expected in fact, and very much to my father’s chagrin.” 

Theli laughed tiredly, “Yes. But could you please go back to the point when you first got Lagor out of the trap? I fell asleep around then, I think.” 

“Certainly. And if you fall asleep again, I’m willing to re-tell whatever part you miss at our next opportunity. Now, my comrade Arodon was somewhat dubious about us taking Lagor with us back to camp. That might have been because Lagor was growling and had tried to bite Arodon when he tried to pet Lagor from above, which I’d told him not to do. But I talked Arodon around by offering him my ration of wine for the next week . . .” 

Somewhat to Thranduil’s relief, Theli did fall asleep just before Thranduil and Arodon got Lagor back to camp (much to the dismay of Captain Curulas, Thranduil’s then-Captain). 

Thranduil had begun stroking Theli’s back again during the story, and continued to do so for a while even after his cousin’s breaths had evened out into the rhythm of sleep. The King wasn’t sure whether he was doing it mostly for Theli’s comfort, or for his own. 

Not wanting to leave his cousin alone after having sentenced him, and being somewhat tired himself, Thranduil laid down beside Theli. He pulled part of the top blanket away from the other side of the bed and draped it over himself. 

When a knock which Thranduil recognized as Legolas’ knock sounded from the door, the King judged that he’d probably slept about an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409


	33. Making Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Theli both find themselves making adjustments to take into account Theli’s new role as Thranduil’s cousin. Fortunately, they have friends and family members to help the process along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg and his friend Linwe, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes chapter 33: 
> 
>  
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs
> 
> “Friends are a strange, volatile, contradictory, yet sticky phenomenon. They are made, crafted, shaped, molded, created by focused effort and intent. And yet, true friendship, once recognized, in its essence is effortless." ― Vera Nazarian 
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 32: 
> 
> Not wanting to leave his cousin alone after having sentenced him, and being somewhat tired himself, Thranduil laid down beside Theli. He pulled part of the top blanket away from the other side of the bed and draped it over himself. 
> 
> When a knock which Thranduil recognized as Legolas’ knock sounded from the door, the King judged that he’d probably slept about an hour.

Thranduil’s lithe son slipped into the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him. Concern was plain in Legolas’ expressive laurel-green eyes as he nodded towards Theli, who lay on his stomach beside Thranduil on the pond-sized bed. 

*As well as can be expected, I believe,* Thranduil silently told his youngest son. 

Legolas nimbly climbed onto the bed and moved over to sit by Thranduil. He moved as lightly as possible, so as to avoid waking their sleeping friend. 

Thranduil noticed, not for the first time but as always with a rush of pride, that Legolas was very good at moving nimbly and lightly. So much so, that the King had seen his youngest son move through tree tops without disturbing a single leaf. 

Thranduil sat up, also being careful not to jostle Theli, and put a fatherly arm around his son’s shoulders. Legolas leaned back against his father, sighing lightly with contentment. 

Thranduil smiled at that. It was nice to be able to see his treasured sons every day, and to spend time with them almost whenever he wished. But he was pleased for them that they were so happy in Ithilien and Gondor. And he was proud of what they were accomplishing there, as well. 

It was also known to Thranduil that he would lose Legolas to the call of the sea and the West. Not this year, and probably not next year. But Thranduil did not expect his son to be able to resist the call of the West after Aragorn and Faramir had both passed on. Which gave the King about another century until he would lose his youngest child’s company for . . . well, potentially for a very long time. 

Given how close Legolas and Thalion had become, it troubled Thranduil that Legolas had made Thalion promise to stay behind in Middle Earth to continue to lead the settlement in Ithilien-en-Edhil after Legolas sailed. However, Thranduil had always intended to send Theli with Legolas, whenever Legolas sailed. To support Legolas, and to advise him. A Theli who had learned how to behave in a manner befitting a royal lord would be a much more valuable advisor to Legolas. As Thranduil considered that, he lifted his other hand to stroke Theli’s wavy shoulder-length ash blond hair. 

“I’ll stay with him, Ada,” Legolas offered in a whisper, “That way you can go to arms practice with Uncle Fileg, Uncle Linwe, Teliemir, and most of Teliemir’s company.” Thranduil’s children had always referred to their father’s gwedyr as their uncles, despite only Fileg being their blood kin. 

His son’s proposal sounded very attractive to Thranduil. Especially after the stress and unpleasantness of having just had to sentence a good friend, one whom Thranduil now also knew to be his cousin. 

Legolas, whose white-blond hair was wet from washing and smelled of citrus soap, had likely already engaged in some form of afternoon exercise between Theli’s sentencing and now. Considering that, and Legolas’ love and support of Theli, Thranduil decided to take his son up on his offer. 

“Don’t tease him,” Thranduil whispered back sternly, “And send for Healer Belegur if he wakes in substantial discomfort.” 

“I won’t! And I will,” Legolas promised, seeming a bit offended that his father felt he had to be warned off teasing Theli. 

“Good. Thank you, ion-nin.” 

Thranduil kissed Legolas on the forehead in parting, and stroked Theli’s back one more time, as well. 

As the King reached the door, he heard his younger cousin stirring, only to relax again at Legolas’ quiet assurance of, “Shh, Theli mellon nin. It’s just me. Ada went to go ‘hack at things with his sword until he feels better,’ as you put it.” 

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at realizing that it had been Theli who had originated that particular saying regarding his King’s fondness for swordplay. A saying which both of Thranduil’s sons found quite funny, and were often wont to repeat at his expense, particularly when their father was in a good mood. And here Thranduil had always blamed Fileg for that particular witticism! Oh well, Fileg had probably done something else which Thranduil hadn’t ever discovered, even if he hadn’t said that particular ‘funny’ thing. Something else which merited his having lost the running and wrestling bout which had followed Thranduil’s accusation. 

On the other side of Thranduil’s bedchamber door, he found his sitting room transformed. Previously, the space had been almost too empty. Now, it was . . . well, it wasn’t quite cluttered. But it was certainly busier. 

The same comfortable grouping of settees was still positioned about the gray marble fireplace. Thranduil’s correspondence was stacked against and along one wall as he’d left it, albeit now in neater piles. The sideboard on one side of the wall was still there, with a built-in stone shelf recessed to the rear of it containing various beverages and glass jars of nuts, dried fruits, and biscuits. 

There was still a dining table by the window nearer the bedchamber, but now it was a larger table, with more chairs around it. It currently hosted a card game between Fileg, Linwe, and Teliemir. Thranduil nodded to them in greeting, and continued to survey the changes to the room. 

Where there had once been empty space on the outside wall, now there was another table underneath the window closest to the common room door. It was a fairly large table of some dark wood, which didn’t show ink stains too badly. That was probably a good thing, as there seemed to be a number of ink stains. Although it was hard for Thranduil to be certain of that. Other than a cleared work space directly in front of a chair, the surface of the new table was completely covered in a thick layer of scrolls, books, parchments showing plant sketches, and trays of different writing and painting materials.

The chair at the new table had a thick cushion, on top of which was a neatly tied bundle of what looked like new clothing. More new clothing was hung over the back of the chair. Thranduil supposed that the fine garments were Theli’s. Which implied that Arwen and Eowyn, at least, had already been in the process of expanding the younger elf’s wardrobe. But that did not explain the disaster of a table. 

“Theli’s drafting table,” Fileg explained as Thranduil stared at the incongruous addition to his sitting chamber, “He’s been working on a book about poisons and antidotes for, oh, the last two millennia or so.”

Meanwhile, Linwe had left his cards face-down on the table. The red-haired warrior went to the sideboard and poured a large goblet of the sweet first- press white wine which was Thranduil’s current favorite vintage on offer from Aragorn’s wine cellars. He then offered it to Thranduil with a faint, fond smile. 

“Thank you,” Thranduil accepted with a deep sigh, glad that his gwedyr at least appreciated how much Thranduil hated sentencing anyone! 

Fileg also gave Thranduil a sympathetic smile. Likely sensing that Thranduil wanted quiet and not conversation, he and Linwe returned to their card game with Teliemir. 

Thranduil sprawled out on the most comfortable of the settees in front of the fire. For ten minutes or so he sipped his wine and watched his friends play. The cards were a Mannish set. The King depicted was Elendil, the Queen was his wife Saija, and the Joker looked to be Prince Imrazor. The four suits were swords, shields, athelas leaves, and spades. 

“Why does every deck of cards in every kingdom throughout all of Middle Earth always have a spades suit?” Thranduil pondered aloud. 

“Everyone needs agriculture,” Teliemir pointed out, “Do you want play the rest of my hand, Thranduil? I’ve got to leave early to organize drills.” 

Thranduil accepted the cards with a nod, then had to hide a smile when he saw how promising a hand Teliemir had been forced to abandon. 

“We might as well throw in now, Lin,” Fileg teased. 

“I am not that easy to read,” Thranduil retorted. 

“I am,” Teliemir accepted with an unashamed laugh, “Thranduil should be more of a challenge for the two of you card sharps, at least.” 

“They both have a fair amount of time to practice while they’re waiting on me to finish something or another,” Thranduil half-explained, half-teased, “Not that they couldn’t find better things to do with their time.” 

“But nothing quite so entertaining,” Fileg bantered back. 

Thranduil just smiled and shook his head at his slightly older cousin. The King won the first hand, then shuffled the cards and dealt out a second, since it had been Teliemir’s turn to deal, according to Fileg. Either that, or Fileg didn’t feel like shuffling. 

While they played the second hand, Thranduil finished his wine. He gave the empty goblet a contemplative look, but in the end decided that he shouldn’t have a second if he was going to engage in swordplay. 

Thranduil’s older cousin looked down at his cards, snorted in disgust, and threw them down on the table conceding, “I don’t have a chance, and it’s almost time for arms practice in any case.” 

Linwe arched a brow, inquiring as to whether Thranduil, too, was willing to concede the game. 

Thranduil wasn’t, “It won’t take long to finish,” he pointed out to Linwe. 

“Ai, the two of you,” Fileg said in exasperation, “Still so competitive. Isn’t it enough that you’re going to get to play ‘best warrior’ next, out in the courtyard?” 

“Do we still play best warrior, Linwe?” Thranduil teased as he threw down the winning card, because of course they did, and it wouldn’t be as much fun if they didn’t. 

“Best 100,001 and out of 100,000,” Linwe agreed, “The card game goes to you, gwador-laes. We’ll have to see if the long hours you’ve spent in the council chamber of late have affected your sword arm, though.” 

“Not this time,” Thranduil countered, pleased to be certain of that, and yet also disgusted that there had been times when his weapons skilled had been dulled by exhaustion from the administrative matters of kingship. 

“Hmm. We’ll see,” said Linwe, hiding a smile. 

“I call loser,” said Fileg cheerfully, “The winner can take on Glorfindel. I always find that amusing.” 

“I’ll tell him that you said so,” Thranduil threatened. 

“What have I ever done to you, gwador-laes?” Fileg reproved, overdramatically holding a hand over his heart. 

“Since the beginning of time? Or just this week?” Thranduil replied, hiding a laugh.

“Slander and lies, all of it!” decried Fileg. 

Arms practice put Thranduil in a better mood, as it almost always did. He was particularly pleased to have gotten to see Thalion match swords with Glorfindel. Glorfindel still won, but Thalion more than held his own. The Balrog-Slayer had been pleased, too. 

Upon returning to their guest apartments, Thranduil was less pleased to discover that Theli was nowhere to be found. Or at least, he was not in the common room or in Thranduil’s private chambers. 

“I doubt that anything untoward has happened to him,” Thranduil complained to Linwe and Fileg, “But I didn’t think that he’d already be forgetting that he was supposed to tell me where he was going if it wasn’t on his schedule. At the least, I’d expected for him to have left me a note!”

Linwe and Fileg nodded in support while Thranduil considered whether it was worth trying to guess where Theli was and sending someone to find him. 

Before he’d reached to a decision, the door to Legolas’ sitting room opened to reveal Theli, Cellillien, and Junior Officer Rillien with her arm in a sling. 

“It’s fine to take your arm out of the sling for sleeping, Rilly, and for stretching exercises that don’t put any strain on that wrist,” Theli said kindly but firmly to Rillien, “it will get better fastest if you don’t push it, and we’re not in the field or at war anymore, so there’s really no reason to.” 

“Yes, I will,” Rillien promised, then stopped short when she saw Thranduil in the common room. 

Thranduil didn’t know the young warrior elleth well, but both Legolas and Captain Eriston had praised Rillien for her weapons skills and her ability to keep calm under pressure. When Theli and Cellillien nodded in respect to Thranduil and greeted him as Aran-nin, Rillien followed their example just a beat later. Thranduil approved. 

“Ecthelion. Cellillien. Junior Officer Rillien,” Thranduil greeted them, before asking just Theli, “Tell me Ecthelion, does my son know that you’ve decided to use his sitting chamber as an impromptu examination room?” 

“I asked, and Legolas said that it was fine,” Theli informed Thranduil with almost his normal level of easy cheer, which pleased the King. 

“Soldier-Healer Arradir is out on patrol with Lieutenant Naruan, at the Gondorian Captain Galdoron’s invitation,” Cellillien helpfully reminded Thranduil, “I asked Theli if he had time to look at Rillien’s arm, so that she wouldn’t have to see a human healer.” 

“Not that I dislike humans,” Rillien quickly assured her King, “But I already know Theli.”

“I understand, Rillien,” Thranduil allowed encouragingly, then asked in much the same tone, “How did you injure your arm?” Thranduil didn’t have anywhere near enough time to keep track of every soldier in his army. But he tried to take an interest when he could, especially with the particularly promising ones. 

Rillien narrowed her amber eyes in irritation, “I didn’t brace the rest of my body well enough before meeting an axe with my sword, Aran-nin. It was poorly done of me. I don’t think that I’ll make the same mistake again.” 

“I don’t think that you will, either,” Thranduil said with quiet approval. Then his expression became more serious and he inquired intently, “Which axe-man wasn’t watching how well he controlled his strength when he sparred with you?” 

“Ah . . . it was really my fault, Sir, for planning the next move in my head instead of paying attention to the blow I was countering,” Rillien re-emphasized. 

“Still.” Thranduil insisted. 

“The Lady Kala, Sir, Lord Gimli’s mother,” Rillien answered, with no trace of a blush, “She was willing to spar with me, so that I could learn more about axe-fighting and how to hold my own against it. Most of the dwarven warriors were either too busy or too . . . erm . . .” 

“Misogynistic,” Cellillien supplied for her fellow female warrior, “Lord Balder actually said that he didn’t want to injure ‘a pretty flower’ like Rillien.” 

“I see,” said Thranduil, “Perhaps he is unschooled in how deadly we grow our blossoms in the Greenwood. A pity he seems uneducable.” 

“He’s gotten better,” Theli said in Balder’s defense, “Gimli and Legolas want Rillien to challenge Balder to a match, but not until after Kala has given Rillien some training.” 

“I’d prefer to win,” Rillien confirmed Theli’s story with a self-conscious smile, “If it were a matter of life or death, I’m pretty sure that I could slay Lord Balder before he was done telling me how pretty I am. But to actually win a match against another experienced warrior who is wielding a weapon I just don’t have enough practice with . . . well, I’d rather wait, take lessons with Lady Kala, and be more confident about winning after I make the challenge.” 

“A sound strategy,” Thranduil endorsed, “And I’m sure that the Lady Kala will be more careful in the future, as well.” 

“She said that she would, Sir,” Rillien agreed with a blush. 

“Good,” said Thranduil. He then waved for Theli to finish his business with the two female soldiers, and returned to reviewing the messages which had been left for him while he was away. 

Before Rillien actually took her leave, Thranduil called out to her, “Junior Officer Rillien? Please do invite me to your match with Lord Balder. Whether you win or not, I’m sure that you’ll give him quite an education.” 

“I fully intend to, Aran-nin,” Rillien agreed with a smile and a determined expression. 

“She reminds me of Baeraeriel,” Thranduil said admiringly to Theli, Fileg and Linwe, after Rillien had left. 

“There’s a resemblance,” Theli agreed, “Rillien’s calmer, and she doesn’t have quite the same inherent grasp of strategy and tactics as Baera. But the calmer can be an advantage, and she learns quickly.” 

“She’s a widow, I believe that Legolas told me?” Thranduil queried sadly. 

“Yes,” Theli affirmed with matching sorrow, “And a fairly recent one. I wasn’t honestly sure if she would continue with the Army, once the Siege ended. I thought that she might go back to being a cook. She was good at her old job, and she liked it. But I think that she found more than just revenge in the Army, and I’m glad for her.” 

“What did Legolas think?” Thranduil asked, concerned about a soldier of his continuing to fight if that was no longer the path she wanted. 

Theli grinned, “’Las said that she was Army, from here on out. That she’d found her path with it. And then he grumbled for about a day after Teliemir wouldn’t give her up so that he could take her with us to Ithilien-en-Edhil. Legolas only reluctantly agreed to it when Teliemir pointed out that Rillien could use more constant fighting experience with the remnants of Sauron’s creatures in the Wood than she’s likely to see in Ithilien-en-Edhil. Hopefully, I mean.” 

“And Baeraeriel?” 

“Baeraeriel and Cellillien both said that Rillien is solid. I made sure of that, before the Army assigned Rillien to Legolas decades ago,” Theli elaborated, “I’d known her husband, and I didn’t want Legolas to be relying on someone whose head might not be in the right place for fighting, rather than seeking vengeance.” 

“Thank you for that, Theli,” said Thranduil, touched by yet more evidence of his new-found cousin’s loyalty to, and care of, Thranduil’s youngest son. 

“Don’t thank me for things, Thranduil,” Theli mock-seriously repeated Thranduil’s words of the previous evening right back to him, “That’s how you can thank me.” 

“Brat,” Thranduil admonished lightly, hiding a laugh. 

“Theli,” Fileg interrupted, “It’s almost time for dinner. Go change into clothes that don’t have stains on them.” 

“Seriously?” Theli objected, looking down at his attire. He groaned when he saw that his sky-blue robe did, indeed, have a stain on it, “Orc-eating Frogs! Bruise balm never washes out properly.” 

“Legolas showed you your new clothing?” Fileg asked, hiding a smile himself at Theli’s colorful language. 

“Yes, he did,” Theli replied tiredly, “They’re very nice. I’ll go put on some of them, shall I?” 

“What a good idea,” Fileg agreed cheerfully. 

Just before Theli reached the door to Thranduil’s sitting room, he turned his head over his shoulder to call back, “Thank you for helping me, Fileg. All the more so because I always forget about making sure that clothes look right!” 

“You’re welcome, Theli. And for future reference, I like being thanked,” Fileg said cheerfully, before directing “Lady Eowyn and Arwen designed the clothing for you, so it should all fit. If something doesn’t, just put it aside.” 

By the time that the now appropriately attired Theli joined Thranduil and his gwedyr in the dining room, Thranduil was having a second glass of wine. In a much improved mood, he was debating whether to make Theli aware that he now knew the origin of the term ‘hack at things with his sword until he feels better’ as a description of Thranduil’s fondness for swordplay. 

The woebegone expression on Theli’s face stopped him, such that all Thranduil said to the younger elf was, “You’re to be seated here, to my left, tonight.” 

Legolas, Thalion, and Rian would be to Thranduil’s right. His granddaughter Calenwen was supping with the royal nursery set, so no one had to be too careful what they said about obstructionist beings from other realms. Well, except about certain dwarves. Legolas took his friendship with Gimli quite seriously. 

Theli came and took the seat by Thranduil. Then he looked down at his tea almost morosely. 

It was an expression foreign to Theli’s normally cheerful face, and Thranduil did not care for it. He wasn’t sure what he should say to improve the matter, though. Telling Theli off for sulking seemed like the wrong answer. And so did teasing him into a better mood, which would work sometimes with Legolas. Perhaps just giving him some space, as Thalion preferred? Given that other elves could begin arriving at any minute, that seemed inadvisable, as well. 

Fileg huffed good-naturedly, and then reached out a hand across the table to tilt Theli’s chin up as he told him firmly, “Chin up, mellon-dithen-nin. You do know that you aren’t in disgrace anymore, don’t you? You’ve been sentenced – and you’ll be punished for awhile – mostly because you ARE important to us. Not to shame you.” 

Theli managed a shy, grateful smile for Fileg, and then a more tentative smile for Thranduil, as if asking whether Fileg was right about that, or not. 

As grateful as he was for Fileg’s assistance, Thranduil was frustrated with the situation. Or perhaps mostly with himself for not having noticed on his own that Theli had actually needed to have this explained to him. Although also a little with Theli, for needing to have this explained to him. Reminding himself that ‘trust takes work,’ as he had told Legolas, Thranduil held onto his patience. 

“You shouldn’t be ashamed, cousin-mine,” Thranduil kindly reassured Theli, “Or at least, you shouldn’t be ashamed yourself. You can be ashamed of what you did, but your sentencing is over and you are in the process of making reparations for what you’ve done. No one has any right to demand anything more of you than a personal apology. Fileg is right – chin up.” 

Theli nodded and sat up straighter with a more customarily bright expression on his face. He winced lightly as he shifted in his seat, then moved his gaze over to Thranduil resolutely. 

“Along the lines of letting you know when I’m having trouble . . .” Theli began uncertainly. 

“Go ahead,” Thranduil replied patiently and encouragingly to what was, after all, a potentially promising development. 

Theli sighed and then reported quickly that, “The man Caelion has disappeared. His grandfather really is sick - he has dementia. The poor elderly man’s case is very advanced, to the point where there’s probably little we can do for him. Caelion disappeared after the healers told him that, on the excuse that he needed to go tell his sister. Warden Del sent a guard with him, and that poor fellow was found the next morning, lying unconscious in an alley after he’d been knocked out with a flower pot from a window ledge. Caelion hasn’t come back, and no one who knows him can find him. He and his grandfather and their servants have only been in the city for about two months. They haven’t done more than meet their neighbors in passing, and their servants are all recent hires who didn’t know anything more about them than that Caelion was a minor lord in service to the Lord of the Lefnui, with a sick father, who had come to Minas Tirith for his father’s health.” 

“That’s . . .” Thranduil began, before breaking off as he didn’t know quite how to describe it. He didn’t want to frighten Theli, but it was certainly troubling. 

“Yes, it is,” Fileg concurred, even though Thranduil hadn’t finished his thought aloud, “Certainly also ‘concerning,’ as you described it the other night, Theli.” 

“Yes,” Thranduil agreed while Theli nodded. The King began to consider what might be done about the matter. 

Theli spoke up again to further explain, “Warden Del asked if he could have a House of Healing guard accompany me on my rounds and sit in on my classes, just in case Caelion is disturbed enough to try to take out his disappointment with his grandfather’s unpromising diagnosis on me. He also wants me and whichever human healer I go into the city with to take a guard with us if we go to visit a patient in the city. Warden Del said that he was disturbed by Caelion’s preoccupation with me, and that it would make him feel better to know that I’d be safe from the unstable relative of a patient whose prognosis isn’t good. I told Warden Del ‘yes,’ about the guards. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Thranduil staunchly affirmed, and then praised, “Well done, and well done for remembering to tell me about it.” He patted Theli’s shoulder to reinforce that, still thinking about what Caelion’s disappearance might mean, and how best to protect his friend. 

Evidently he was not the only one thinking along those lines, because Linwe asked critically, “So, more of these House of Healing guards who let Caelion get past them the other night will be protecting Ecthelion . . . ” 

“Thank you, Linwe,” said Fileg exasperatedly, to remind them that Caelion had gotten past him, too. 

Linwe waved dismissively to that, “I wasn’t including you with them, gwador. You knew that Theli was capable of moving out of the way, and defending himself. The House of Healing guards didn’t.” 

“True,” Fileg concurred, “They weren’t that bad, but they were taken by surprise. Then they let that stay their hands for longer than they should have. Worse, they were also willing to let the idiot go after he gave them a weak excuse for his actions. If Theli hadn’t already taken Caelion’s knife by that point, I’m not sure what would have happened next.” 

Linwe nodded in support of that, then continued, “and then this other House of Healing guard lets himself get knocked out with a flower pot by a man he KNEW to be suspicious of.” 

“Not necessarily,” Theli interrupted in what seemed like an attempt to be fair to the House of Healing guards, “What if Caelion had had a friend? Or more than one?” 

“Even so,” Linwe countered decisively. 

Just then the Royal Guard on the other side of the common room door announced Captain Teliemir, who came directly to join them in the dining room. 

“Well done, Tel, with the drills today,” Thranduil complimented, before directing his younger cousin, “Theli, tell Teliemir what you just told us.” 

Theli took a deep breath and did so. 

Teliemir listened thoughtfully, then when Theli was finished, he proposed, “I’ve got your schedule already for the next week, soldier-mine. Thranduil, do you want me to have one of our soldiers accompany Theli when he’s in the House of Healing on the Sixth Level, and out in the city proper as well?” 

“I think that would be for the best,” Thranduil confirmed with some reluctance, putting a hand on Theli’s shoulder again to soothe him with respect to this further loss of independence. 

Theli turned to regard his King with concerned dark blue eyes, “This  
his isn’t because you don’t trust me not to run off without word, is it Thranduil? I wouldn’t do that. I mean, again. And even with the errands for Mithrandir, I left word that I was going to Lothlorien and then on trading trips with Orophin.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t run away or go on a trip without leaving any word, not after we’ve talked it over to death,” Thranduil agreed, “And especially since you’re confined to the Citadel except for pre-approved activities, such as what’s on the schedule Teliemir gave me. But I am concerned that you might run off and respond to a call of ‘help, help!’ without thinking it over too carefully.” 

Theli made a frustrated face, then conceded, “That’s a fair accusation. I can’t help it to some extent. I am a healer.” 

“And now you’re going to be a royal healer lord with a Greenwood shadow and a Gondorian shadow,” Thranduil told him inflexibly, but not without a trace of sympathy. 

With a sigh, Theli mourned, “They’re going to intimidate some of my patients.” 

“Then have them both wait at the door of the room or ward that you are working in at the Healing Hall,” Thranduil suggested as he struggled to be patient, “But in the city, I want them in sight of you.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Theli promised. 

“Yes, you will,” Thranduil reinforced pointedly, “And if our Greenwood soldier tells you to do something for your safety, then you’re to obey him.” 

Theli nodded in response to that, but as he did so he was also doing a poor job of hiding an impish smile. 

“A verbal answer please, Theli,” Thranduil directed with overstated patience, “And while you’re at it, what is so blasted funny?” 

Now struggling not to laugh, Theli replied, “Yes, I’ll do as I’m told by a Greenwood soldier if he thinks I’m in danger if I don’t listen. And it’s hard not to laugh, because it’s just funny to hear you give me a lighter version of the lecture I’ve heard you given many times by your elder kinsmen, including Lord Celeborn, and by your friends and guards. The scolding about listening to your guards, I mean.” 

Thranduil had to concede that was a little funny, but he didn’t want to encourage it. 

“Haha,” he responded drolly, “So very glad that I could give you a laugh.” He actually was, given how much Theli was already dealing with, even without some idiot threatening his younger cousin’s safety. 

Fileg smiled at Theli, and complimented, “I thought that it was funny, too.” 

The King’s patience for Theli finding amusement in Thranduil’s own predicaments did not extend to Fileg, so he suggested sardonically, “Thank you, gwador. Would you like to be one of Theli’s guards? I’m sure that you’ll find the post-mortem examinations he does to be particularly fascinating.” 

To Thranduil’s slightly guilty pleasure, that suggestion resulted in Fileg’s fair face turning green. Thranduil’s older cousin wasn’t squeamish on the battlefield, but not unlike Thranduil, he preferred to avoid dead bodies outside of life-and-death circumstances. 

At almost exactly the same time, Linwe and Theli both said, “No,” to Thranduil’s suggestion. 

The King raised an inquiring eyebrow at his older oath-brother and his younger friend-and-cousin. 

Linwe and Theli looked at one another for a moment, then Linwe surprised Theli – and Thranduil – by tilting his head in permission for Theli to speak first. 

Theli said helpfully, “A lot more people want to kill or kidnap you then want to accost me, Thranduil. Fileg is good at his job and you mostly listen to him, so you need him.” 

“I agree with that,” Linwe affirmed. If he was surprised to be on the same page as Theli, he did a good job of not showing it. 

Teliemir interrupted the stare off between Thranduil – who didn’t really want to spare Fileg to shepherd Theli around, but who also didn’t need to be looked after like an elfling, curse it all – and Linwe, who apparently felt that he knew better about Thranduil’s security than Thranduil did. 

“Thranduil, if you like,” Teliemir began in an all-too-amused tone of voice, “I’ll make up a list for you of the soldiers from my company whom I can spare, who also have the hand-to-hand experience, weapons-skills, and vigilance to make good guards for Theli.” 

Thranduil sighed and abandoned his staring contest with Linwe to accept, “Thank you, Tel. That would be helpful.” When he said the word ‘helpful,’ Thranduil glared at Linwe again, just so that his oldest gwador would know that he hadn’t been ‘helpful.’ 

With a slight shake of his head possibly intended for Thranduil’s benefit, Linwe said, “Tel, let me see the list before you give it to Thranduil, please.” 

At Thranduil’s renewed glare, Linwe sighed and amended, “Or at least let me, as well as Thranduil, see it before we make any final decisions as to who should be in charge of guarding Theli. You’ll need to remove anyone who’s ever served under Theli, or who might be particularly vulnerable to his persuasion, from your consideration.” 

Theli looked embarrassed, and also a little annoyed, as if he didn’t care for this development. Thranduil couldn’t help but feel sympathetic, but at the same time, he felt it was necessary. 

Mollified by Linwe’s showing that he thought that Thranduil would be a help rather than a hindrance in that process, Thranduil concluded, “We can discuss Teliemir’s choices together tomorrow morning, after breakfast and before my morning meetings.” 

“Eee,” Theli complained in an inarticulate but definitive manner, while rolling his eyes in exasperation. 

In a friendly enough fashion, but with no willingness to be gainsaid, Thranduil told him, “You don’t have to like it, Theli. You just have to do as you’re told.” 

Ducking his head to hide another smile, Theli asked, “As well as you do what you’re told, elder-cousin-mine?” 

“We’re not talking about me,” Thranduil replied quellingly, “I’m older than you, and you’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll impose consequences that NEITHER of us will enjoy, but which you’ll enjoy far less than I will. For instance, Galad thinks it would be good if you were to inventory everything in the Royal Healing Ward.” Thranduil didn’t mind the teasing, not really, but he was going to cut off even the possibility of Theli treating his guards the way that Thranduil – particularly a younger Thranduil – had been wont to treat his. 

Theli blushed and sighed, conceding to Thranduil’s will with an unhappy nod. 

Thranduil reached over to gently tug on a lock of his cousin’s hair, to soften the scold. 

Theli smiled back at him, as if to assure Thranduil that the younger elf held no grudge over the matter. 

Thranduil found himself smiling back, because Theli’s smile was infectious. 

And that was the moment at which Legolas and his companions joined them, which earned Thranduil and Theli both a smile and a pleased look from Thranduil’s youngest son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409


	34. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil spends time with his family, and helps Theli with a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, friend Linwe, and General Rochendil and Master Rochirion, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please read all warnings. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes chapter 34: 
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 33: 
> 
> Theli smiled, as if to assure Thranduil that the younger elf held no grudge over the matter. 
> 
> Thranduil found himself smiling back, because Theli’s smile was infectious. 
> 
> And that was the moment at which Legolas and his companions joined them, which earned Thranduil and Theli both a smile and a pleased look from Thranduil’s youngest son.

After dinner, most of Thranduil’s family members and intimate friends lingered at the table. Their conversation was wide-ranging, covering everything from a planned riding and swimming expedition up Mount Mindolluin later in the week, to Legolas’ one-time surety that Thalion could walk through walls because he always knew what elfling Legolas was up to. 

“I once thought the same, about you using magic to get about,” Baeraeriel confessed to Thalion, “You were better than our parents at guessing when we were up to something.” 

Thalion chuckled and started to answer, before looking to his foster-father to make sure that it would truly be fine to answer honestly. 

Thranduil raised a brow, more or less daring his foster-son to say whatever it was that he was really thinking. 

The dark-haired ellon ducked his head and chuckled again, before saying, “It was an acquired skill, honestly. Adar always seemed to know when I had a plan to get up to some mischief.” 

“Given that some of the only mischief you ever got up to of your own accord was pretending to be a ghost to scare away your Sea Dragon of a grandmother, ion-nin,” Thranduil reminded Thalion, “I thought that it was best for me to keep an eye on what you were about.” 

That long ago moment - when Thranduil had realized that his wife’s normally rule-abiding fosterling had been so determined to get his horrible grandmother out of the Greenwood that he’d resorted to what was a very clever but still desperate scheme to do so - that had been one of the moments which led to Thranduil first deciding that they were keeping Thalion. 

Before that night, Thalion had been only Thranduil’s wife Minaethiel’s foster-son, not Thranduil’s foster-son too. On top of that, Thalion had been a thorn in Thranduil’s side. It had taken years after that night for Thranduil to realize that he’d come to love Thalion as his own son, but that series of events, Thalion’s prank on the Sea-Dragon, and Thranduil’s learning all of why the elfling had come to dislike his grandmother, that had been when Thranduil’s relationship with Thalion began to change. 

“About that prank, you just gave me hints on how to fake a haunting better,” Thalion accused his father fondly. 

“Oh, don’t worry, that didn’t make me think less of you, Thalion-nin,” Thranduil assured his son, “I had realized by that point that you hadn’t had much experience with mischief of any kind.” 

The King and his oldest son shared another smile, because they both knew that if the elfling Thalion had been the type for planning pranks, his target would have been his beloved foster-mother’s new husband. Thalion had hated sharing Minaethiel with Thranduil as much as Thranduil had hated coming home from the war to share the limited time he had with his bride-to-be (and then new bride) with an orphaned elfling. Thalion’s mother Gwilin had been an artist who had worked for Minaethiel, painting the toys which Minaethiel arranged to have made as Yuletide presents for every elfling in the Greenwood. Thranduil had understood his beloved’s good intentions, and he had seen that she had come to love Thalion. But at first, Thalion and Thranduil had not much liked one another. 

“So I deduced that you also hadn’t had any prior experience with faking a haunting, Thalion-nin,” Thranduil continued affectionately, “and I decided to give you some tips.” 

“Yes, you did,” Thalion recalled fondly and bemusedly, “and I was so shocked by your being helpful, instead of using my misdeeds as a reason to get rid of me, that it took me until after you had already left me alone in the common room with my white sheets and my buckets of slime and fake blood to think to say ‘thank you.’” 

“I wasn’t the only adult helping you,” Thranduil pointed out, with a gesture towards Theli.

Rochendil and Rochirion, who had been giving Thranduil disappointed looks, now shared them with their King’s healer and new-found kinsman. 

Although Rochirion at least bestirred himself to the effort of gently admonishing Thranduil, “Just because it was mischief and Ecthelion had joined your household at around that time, doesn’t mean that he was involved, Thrandil-my-elfling.” 

“Glowing green paint on my wolf hounds’ fur which washed right out without harming them,” Thranduil accused, with an amused but disbelieving look for the innocent-seeming Theli, “And phosphorescent ointment around their eyes which must have tasted good. So good that they licked it all off of their faces, and so had glowing tongues during nighttime for several nights thereafter.” 

“Well, fine, it was me who helped Thalion with those things,” Theli agreed with a distinct lack of shame, “But it was only after I knew that you’d determined that the Sea-Dragon was leaving soon, and without Thalion. It seemed just helpful at that point to help Thalion give her more reasons for a hasty and willing departure.”

“Ecthelion,” Rochirion scolded in a disapproving tone. 

Meanwhile Thranduil and Theli exchanged looks, both remembering the bruises that the then-recovering Theli had noticed on Thalion’s arms, which he’d gently prompted the honest elfling to confess were from his grandmother pinching him whenever his behavior upset her. Theli had made sure that both Nestorion and Thranduil had overheard that conversation. Thalion himself hadn’t known that anyone else was listening. 

Back then, the elfling Thalion’s goal with his haunting prank had been to get his grandmother, Mistress Ambilvane of Mithlond, whom Thalion had nicknamed the Sea-Dragon, to leave the Greenwood before she made so many enemies that she’d never be invited back. Which Thalion had cared about, because he’d wanted to come back and visit Minaethiel and his other Greenwood friends, and was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to if his grandmother insulted everyone. Thalion had believed at that time that he had no choice but to go back to Mithlond with his grandmother and his paternal uncles Erellont and Falathar, because he’d thought then that Minaethiel and Thranduil hadn’t wanted him to stay with them in the Greenwood. 

That part had even been true, at least on Thranduil’s side. Until he saw the bruises on the elfling’s arms. And overheard Thalion explaining to Theli that the dark bruises weren’t important, because Thalion thought that must just be how ellith from Mithlond treated elflings. Thalion had been twenty-one years old at the time, the equivalent of only a seven year old human child. 

Thranduil and Nestorion had explained the Sea Dragon’s unacceptable treatment of her grandson to her grown sons, Thalion’s uncles Erellong and Falathar. Thranduil had even been polite enough, at Nestorion’s insistence, not to call Thalion’s grandmother Ambilvane the ‘Sea Dragon’ to her sons’ faces. Then Thranduil and Nestorion had both been appalled when Erellont and Falathar said that it was just their mother’s way, and that there was nothing to be done about it. [re-word paragraph?] 

“She’d never really hurt an elfling of our nephew’s age, your Grace,” Falathar had obsequiously insisted to the first disbelieving and then increasingly disgusted Thranduil. 

“Be that as it may,” Thranduil had managed, the determination to keep Thalion solidifying within his heart like ore melting and re-forming, “she won’t have the chance to do so again. I’ve changed my mind. My wife and I would like to continue to foster your grandson here, in our court and as part of our household.” 

And Thranduil had stuck to that position, sailing through first Thalion’s family’s resistance, and then his own family’s objections, with the surety of an elven patrol through the trees on a windy forest day. 

The first hurdle had been Thalion’s family, until the boot-licking Falathar had realized that having a nephew who continued to be the foster-son of a King, even the King of a Kingdom a ‘backward and barbaric’ as the Greenwood, might be a social advantage to him and his frightening mother. And to his dutiful older brother Erellont, although Thranduil didn’t think that Erellont personally noticed anything that wasn’t directly related to his position as one of Lord Cirdan’s trusted assistants. 

The second hurdle had been Thalion himself. Thranduil clearly remembered that long ago day when he’d collected Thalion early from his lessons in order to inform the elfling of his decision, and to make sure that it was what Thalion wanted, too. 

“Why? Why would you even want me to stay?” the solemn dark-haired elfling had demanded, his voice full of pain, “You don’t want me here, Thranduil! You don’t love me!”

The small child with his earnest, hurting brown eyes and his brave, direct manner had appealed to Thranduil on a level the young King hadn’t then understood. At the start of the Third Age, Thranduil still hadn’t been able to think of himself as a father at all. He’d only barely been a husband; he'd only just lost his own father. He certainly hadn’t been ready to be a father himself. And he'd never been around elfings, much, before Thalion. But something about Thalion’s courage, and his lack of other options, had drawn both courage and truth from Thranduil that day.   
"You're right, Thalion,” Thranduil admitted bluntly, “I don't love you, and I didn't like you much, at first, either. It wasn’t really because of you that I didn’t like you, though. It was because I didn't want to share Minaethiel with you, anymore than you wanted to share her with me."   
The elfling nodded, with a half-ashamed and half-relieved smile at having his own feelings so correctly deduced and named aloud by his opponent.   
Thranduil continued with a tentative smile of his own, “But it’s occurred to me by now that you're not so bad. Scaring the Sea Dragon away, if of course you had done that, which we both agree you didn't, would have been quite a fine thing, in my opinion.”   
“But I didn’t scare the Sea Dragon,” Thalion repeated obediently, with the start of a real smile in his brown eyes giving them the bright sparkle of tiger’s eye gems in the sunlight as he continued, “because I was in my bed asleep all of the night, all of those nights, because you told me that I was.”   
“That’s right,” Thranduil encouraged, kneeling down so that he could look the twenty-one year old elfling in the eyes, “In fact, I think that I am coming to like you, Thalion. And you love Minaethiel, and I love Minaethiel, and Minaethiel loves us both. How about you and I try to be friends?” Thranduil offered.  
"I . . . I'd like to be friends, Thranduil," Thalion agreed softly, with a shy smile.   
“Friends, then,” Thranduil agreed with finality, “and I promise you that I'll do my best to see that you can stay with me and Minaethiel, as our foster-son. Even if I fail in that, I swear that I will not see you end up with the Sea Dragon, or under her power. And I promise that, wherever you end up living, I will make sure that you can at least come and visit Minaethiel and your friends here." 

"Can you do that, Thranduil?" Thalion asked hesitantly.  
Some elflings would have thought that a King could do anything. But Thalion was observant enough that he’d realized that was not the case, just from living in the royal household for several years. Thranduil gave the elfling’s question real thought, because it was Thalion's future at stake, and the elfling had a right to true answers.   
"I think that I can," Thranduil finally answered, "I am a King, and your father and mother were my subjects. Well, my father's subjects, but if they had lived they would have been my subjects.” 

Thalion nodded solemnly, "Thank you.” Then, with a concerned frown, the elfling added, “Friends are supposed to help eachother. But I don’t have anything important like that, that I can do for you, for my part. But I promise that I won't pretend to have nightmares and come to get Nana Mina in the middle of the night so that I get more time with her and you don’t get as much time with her. I won’t do that anymore.”   
Thranduil, with great restraint, had managed not to glare at Thalion at the admission that the elfling had really been doing that, although it did give him a bit more grudging respect for Thalion, that he would have so cleverly faked something like that. And that Thalion would admit to it now and agree to stop, when they were trying to become friends.   
"That would be a very kind effort, Thalion," Thranduil said at last, "The type of gesture that I would appreciate, from my new friend." 

Thalion, appearing a bit ashamed himself, promised, "I really won't call out or come to get Nana Mina any more for fake nightmares . . . but sometimes I have real nightmares. The one the night after your and Nana Mina’s wedding . . . um, it was a real one. I dreamed of when Ada had died during the War, and then Nana fell down the stairs again when she learned that Ada had died, and then they took her to the healers. Only when they let me in . . . to say good-bye, Nana said that it was my fault, that Ada died. And I just couldn't fall back sleep without seeing Nana Mina, because she was there when Nana really died, and she knows," the little elfling started crying in earnest, "she knows that Nana really said that she loved me, and that . . . and that nothing was my fault." 

Thranduil felt a lot out of his depth, but he awkwardly offered Thalion a hug, which the elfling hesitantly accepted. Holding the little elfling, and smelling his unique child-like scent, which was a mixture of almond soap, a faint hint of Minaethiel’s perfume, and something specific to Thalion, Thranduil admitted something that he would never have seen himself telling any elfling, let alone this one whom he hadn't even liked, not until several nights previous.   
"I understand, Thalion mellon dithen-nin,” Thranduil told him, “Really, I do. I have real nightmares, too, sometimes." 

Thalion's eyes widened, and his tears stopped, "You do? But you're so brave, Thranduil!"   
“Being brave doesn’t mean that you’re not afraid, Thalion,” Thranduil assured the elfling, “It just means that you try to keep on doing what you need to do even though you’re scared. For you, that means coming to get Mina or me if you have a real nightmare. Or even if you're just sad and lonely and you've tried getting back to sleep by yourself but you can't.”   
“You really want me to stay, then?” Thalion had asked almost desperately.   
“I really want you to stay,” Thranduil had confirmed. And that had finally been enough for Thalion.  
With Thalion convinced, Thranduil had gone to his wife. In fact, at first, Thranduil had confessed the full truth of the matter (including the bruises and the negligent uncles but not the truce between himself and Thalion), only to Minaethiel. Then, Thranduil had had to pull in all of his mother, Fileg, Calmarille, and Minaethiel’s parents, in order to keep his wife from seeking after blood. That had been in part because Thranduil had always liked that fierce part of his bride, and because the young King had not-so-secretly quite liked the thought of his new Queen skewering the Sea Dragon in a duel.   
Knowing about Thalion’s grandmother’s abuse of the elfling had caused Minaethiel’s family to give Thranduil and Minaethiel their support in becoming parents in a more than temporary way to Thalion. It had also finally defeated objections from Thranduil’s cousin Celeborn. That had been such a busy and tumultuous time, though. Perhaps Thranduil had never told the full story to Rochendil or Rochirion? 

He’d have to do so, but later. Thalion never liked to speak about – or even think about - either his grandmother Ambilvane (the Sea Dragon) or his Uncle Falathar. Thalion’s father Aerandir, Ambilvane’s middle son, and his wife, Thalion’s mother Gwilin, had moved all the way from Mithlond to the Greenwood in order to get away from Ambilvane. Ambilvane’s other sons, Erellont the eldest and Falathar the youngest, had never fully escaped her influence, or her using her own sons to bolster her own status. 

Thalion’s Uncle Erellont was a decent enough elf, and one well capable of ordering Lord Cirdan’s business interests. Despite that, he’d never learned to stand up to his mother, not even for the sake of one of his nephews. It was Thalion’s younger Uncle Falathar who had been closest to his manipulative mother. Falathar had been very aware of status, which Thranduil had realized. But how low the ellon would sink in an attempt to achieve a higher status for himself and his family, that Thranduil had not expected. 

Nor had Elrond, Celebrian, or Erestor, all of whom had sometimes employed Falathar as a supervisory scribe in Imladris. Falathar’s excessively firm treatment of his own son Gelmir, who was roughly of an age with Elladan and Elrohir, had made Thranduil and Elrond both glad that Thranduil and Minaethiel had kept custody of Thalion. 

Elrond and Celebrian, while unaware of how harsh Falathar had actually been with his son Gelmir, had still been concerned by the tension between father and son. That concern had led them to recommend to Falathar that he send Gelmir to Thranduil and Minaethiel in the Greenwood, for Gelmir continue his training as a minstrel there. Falathar, however, had remained employed in Imladris, where he had used his position of trust to abuse and even attempt to kidnap Erestor’s then-ward, Melpomaen. Falathar had resented Melpomaen for having been so young and recently arrived in Imladris, yet having already earned the trust of Elrond and Erestor. 

Falathar’s son Gelmir, on the other hand, had done well in the Greenwood. He had been a polite and caring elfling, and a promising apprentice musician and composer. He eventually became one of Middle Earth’s most famous composers and minstrels. He was quite famous in his own right, and came to be called Gelmir Golden-Voice. He wrote the famous song ‘The Three Roses of Imladris,” about Elrond’s and Celebrian’s older daughter Andreth and her friends Tauriel and Eilunwen. Later, he had married Andreth, and then sailed with his mother-by-law Celebrian after Andreth’s death and Celebrian’s rescue from imprisonment by orcs. The rescue had tragically come too late for Andreth. Not only for Andreth’s sake, but for Gelmir’s sake, and Celebrian’s, and now Elrond’s, Thranduil hoped that Andreth had already been reborn, safe and happy, in the West. He hoped the same for his wife and their three children, when he let himself think of the matter at all. 

In any case, Thranduil didn’t blame Thalion for not wanting to think of his grandmother Ambilvane or his youngest uncle Falathar. Out of consideration for his oldest son, the King had the courtesy not to bring them into this discussion.

So did Theli. For all of Theli’s lack of social graces, Thranduil had still sent him with Thalion on Thalion’s trips to Mithlond or Imladris to visit his uncles and grandmother. The visits couldn’t have entirely been avoided without openly accusing the Sea Dragon of physically abusing her grandson. 

Yes, Thranduil and Minaethiel had ruled the Greenwood. But Mistress Ambilvane had been a very powerful and well-respected elleth in Lindon and Mithlond, mostly due to her son Erellont’s prominent position in Cirdan’s service. It was only after Falathar’s crimes, and his mother Ambilvane’s complicity in them, had been revealed that Elrond and Cirdan had made public their misdeeds, and had sentenced Ambilvane and her youngest son Falathar to sail West against their own wishes. The scandal had sent shock waves throughout the high-ranking and well-off elves of Mithlond, Lindon, and Imladris, so high had been Ambilvane’s and Falathar’s status. 

In any case, Theli had never been an elf who was afraid to tell off an authority figure and make his position stick, no matter how highly ranking the authority figure. Theli had kept himself, or one of Thranduil’s other trusted elves, around Thalion every time that the elfling had any contact with his grandmother. Thranduil hadn’t had to tell Theli to do that, even though he had done, just to be sure. But Theli had already known what to do. Theli was a good elf to have around, in that way. In fact, although Thranduil hadn’t thought of it in a long time, Legolas was not the first of his children whom he’d entrusted to Theli’s care. Just the most recent. 

“Nobody ever helped me to coat an annoying visitor’s guest chamber in slime and fake blood and then set ghostly hounds with glowing eyes on her,” Legolas complained. 

“If you’d met my grandmother, Las-nin, you’d understand,” Thalion assured him. 

“Seconded,” Thranduil put in, “Although I am not entirely opposed to you doing something similar to Faramir’s aunt the Princess Ivriniel, if you so wish, Legolas.” The King and both of his sons had struggled to hold their tongues at times, given Ivriniel’s criticisms of Faramir and Eowyn, and of their older daughter, spirited little Theodwyn. 

“I’ll help you paint the hounds, baby brother, if you decide to go that route,” Thalion offered, while his wife Rian laughed merrily at that mental image of her serious husband doing such an undignified thing. 

“I think that we could get Eowyn and maybe even Aragorn and Arwen to help,” Thranduil suggested, only half joking. 

“Thranduil is only jesting, elflings,” Rochendil stated, in a way which made it plain that Thranduil had better just be jesting, for Thranduil’s own sake. Hopefully, that second meaning was lost on Thranduil’s elflings and their contemporaries. 

It was apparently also lost on Theli, who put in, “It would be easy enough to make some more of the phosphorescent ointment. Elladan would probably find it fascinating.” 

The reproving looks from the Elder Set also had no impact on Theli. 

To spare everyone trouble, and because he was curious, Thranduil inquired, “How much of Elladan being at your throat was an act, Theli? During these past several visits, at least.” 

“Most of it, I think,” Theli admitted, “Elladan is a good actor. I think that he rather enjoyed the drama of the part, and that’s why he took it too far sometimes.” 

Then Theli shook his head with a rueful smile and explained further, “When it was just us, or just us and Melpomaen, Orophin, or Faramir, Elladan has been different. Less antagonistic, certainly, but also a little dictatorial and over-protective. It’s like having a sharper-tongued version of his father looking out for me, but one who has less than Elrond’s share of wisdom and patience.” 

“In short, better, but not that much better?” Thranduil concluded, amused by the thought of Theli dealing with that aspect of Elladan, even though Thranduil would have pulled up Elrond’s younger twin son sharply if Elladan had turned such an attitude on Thranduil, personally. 

“Yes,” Theli agreed with a half-smile which showed that he, too, saw the humor in the situation. 

The talk at the table then turned back to how Thalion had used everything he’d learned from growing up with Thranduil and Minaethiel, and everything he’d learned from hearing stories about his foster-parents as elflings, to keep track of his younger siblings and foster-cousins. Rather to Thranduil’s and Legolas’ mutual surprise, there had been instances of Legolas getting up to mischief which Thalion had put a stop to, without ever informing Thranduil about any of it. 

“Well, I thought what harm was it really, to have trained Fancy to attack moving quills?” Thalion said, with a fond but faintly chiding smile for Legolas, “A little hard on ink, and parchment, certainly. But having Fancy Whiskers ruin someone’s correspondence usually made you laugh, Ada. Even when it was your letters that Fancy had just gotten ink spatters and paw prints all over.” 

“I did think it was funny,” Thranduil said without much hint of judgement. There had been so little to laugh about, then, in the wake of so many personal losses and the Watchful Peace ending. “Although for Fancy’s sake, I wish that you had told me sooner. I had to lure her out of my office with treats and then shut her out of there whenever I started writing. She didn’t care for that.” 

Fancy had been a calico cat with particularly long whiskers which she often held aloft with pride. Her actual name had been something else, but little elfling Legolas had given her the title ‘Lady Fancy Whiskers,’ and it had stuck. Thranduil couldn’t even remember the first name, as Legolas’ moniker for her had been amusing, and usually quite appropriate. She’d been a very proper and lady-like feline, except when she forgot herself enough to go chasing energetically after a quill which was still in Thranduil’s own hand. And even then, she’d been lady-like enough to do so with sheathed claws. 

During the course of determining what, exactly, Legolas had done to ‘train’ Fancy to expand her natural interest in feathered creatures and drifting feathers to also include moving quills with elves attached to them, Theli excused himself from the table. 

“I have a letter to go and write,” the healer explained in a pained but nevertheless resolved fashion. 

“Surely it can wait,” Legolas protested, in a way which strongly suggested to Thranduil that his youngest son was enjoying not just Theli’s presence, but also his older friend’s return to his normal cheery and insouciant self. 

“‘Tis best done sooner than later, Theli,” Thranduil agreed, enabling Theli’s departure to write to his mentor Nestorion with an explanation of his nine journeys for Mithrandir near the end of the Third Age. 

Or to try to, at any rate. Thranduil resolved to go and check on his progress, when it got to a point when Legolas would not mind his father’s absenting himself. It wasn’t that Thranduil didn’t trust Theli to go through with writing his letter to Nestorion. It was more than Thranduil knew from personal experience how difficult it could be to write such letters, and that he wanted to offer his help and support, should Theli need it. 

When Thranduil excused himself and returned to his private sitting room, he found Theli sitting at the younger elf’s still-disastrous-seeming ‘drafting table.’ 

Intent at his task, Theli didn’t even seem to notice Thranduil’s entrance. Thranduil’s healer-cousin was frowning tensely at the mostly blank missive in front of him, his quill clutched tightly in his fist. Numerous balled up parchments which Thranduil thought were likely previous drafts were strewn on top of the existing layers of plant sketches and other healing-related drawings and drafts piled on the table. 

Thranduil laid a gentle hand on Theli’s shoulder to get his attention. When his younger cousin looked up questioningly, Thranduil advised, “‘Dear Master Nestorion’ would be a good start, I think.” 

Theli gave him a frustrated and sad half-smile as he explained, “I’m not sure how to address it, actually. If we’re working in the Healing Hall together, being ‘Master Healer Nestorion and Healer Ecthelion,’ then it would definitely be ‘Master Healer Nestorion.’ And if I’m mostly confessing that I was busy doing things that I didn’t have permission to do as one of Master Nestorion’s royal healers, then it should be ‘Dear Master Nestorion.’ But I think that this is more of an ‘I made a gigantic series of mistakes and did things that you’ve told me repeatedly not to do again as Theli’ confession, rather than an ‘I made unwise decisions as a royal healer and absented myself from your staff without fully explaining what I was up to’ confession. But it’s a bit of both, so it’s hard to decide.” 

“Hmm,” said Thranduil non-commitally, because he didn’t really understand. Although he supposed it might be similar to when he’d hesitated, long ago, over choosing to begin such uncomfortable confessional missives with ‘Dear Ada,’ or ‘Dear Adar,’ or the much more formal ‘Aran-nin’. 

He pulled one of the chairs from the other table over so that he could sit beside Theli for the time being, and asked, “How would you address the letter if it were a ‘just Theli’ confession?” 

“Oh, well, since . . . a while ago, he likes for me to call him just Nestorion, or even Ada Nestorion, if we’re not in public working as healers,” Theli explained shyly, “And, he tries not to show it, but I’ve realized that it hurts his feelings if I act like he’s not important enough to me. Important enough for me to consider him to be like family, I mean. So starting off the letter by calling him ‘Ada’ would make it clear that I’m not trying to say that he isn’t important, or that I think I’m not important to him. But I’m still not sure if that’s the right thing to do.”

Thranduil felt a stab of jealousy at hearing that. He was surprised at how quickly he managed to dismiss it and muster an answer. 

“Given that your self-confessed go-to assumption, during your adventures, was that your life is less important than your cousins’ and your friends’ lives,” Thranduil suggested, “perhaps ‘Ada’ would be best. To signal to Nestorion that you do take this seriously, as your having failed in your filial duty to him. And, for that matter, in your duty to me and my family, as our friend. And as our cousin, but I’m not going to count that last against you. You didn’t know about that anymore than I did.” 

“Yes, I’d picked up that you were mad about all of that,” Theli admitted with an abashed expression on his heart-shaped face. In his hands he was twisting the quill he’d been writing with, making Thranduil afraid that he might snap the writing instrument, causing yet another ink stain. 

Thranduil reached out and laid a palm gently over one of Theli’s hands, while carefully extracting the quill with the other. 

“I forgive you,” the King said kindly, while offering Theli a clean paintbrush from one of the trays in lieu of the quill to fiddle with, “but I still am upset by what you’ve done, and by why you did some of it. It . . . it BOTHERED me, Theli, to hear you refer to yourself as ‘nobody’s family’ and ‘nobody’s son.’” 

Theli had accepted having his quill taken away and replaced by a paintbrush in a startled but willing manner. At that, though, he shook his head, “I never said that I’m nobody’s family, Thranduil.” 

“You said that you were ‘expendable in comparison to others,’ which is close enough, Pest,” Thranduil replied huskily, reaching out again to put a hand over Theli’s nearer hand and squeeze for a moment, “I think that a more personal term of address in your letter to Nestorion would be best, given that.” 

“But . . .” Theli objected, even as he squeezed Thranduil’s hand back briefly, “it seems presumptuous to call him Ada. And calling him so softens him, sometimes. And I don’t want to try to . . . to . . . manipulate him, like that, especially when he’ll be so angry with me for what I did.” 

“First off,” Thranduil scolded lightly, letting go of Theli’s hand after one more squeeze and then tugging on a loose lock of his cousin’s wavy hair, “I don’t think that Nestorion would go easy on you just because you appeal to his emotions. At least, that rarely ever works for me when I’m in trouble with him, and when it does, it’s usually because he thinks that I need for him to go easy on me. And he’s usually right. And second, I think that you could stand to be more presumptuous.” 

Theli tilted his head with a rueful, amused smile, “Really? Most people say that I have too much presumption. You’ve even said so, at times.” 

“Yes, I have, and I stand by that,” Thranduil replied, “But when you are too presumptuous, it’s with respect to pushing your care on me as a healer, or telling me when you think I’m being too hard on my children – or someone else. And, while I want you to be more circumspect in public,” Thranduil half-teased with another tug to Theli’s hair, “I do not want you to stop telling me what you really think, in private.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Theli said with a smile, while using one hand to bat Thranduil’s hand further away from his hair. 

“Do,” Thranduil insisted, then was quiet for a moment, thinking of how to word his concern. 

“Just go ahead and say it,” Theli urged him after a moment, “Whatever it is. Eru knows that I’m making no progress with my letter.” 

“As I have said,” Thranduil began at last, “I think that you could stand to be more presumptuous. I have noticed, over the years, and especially during these last several days, that you are hesitant to initiate physical contact. Even with many of your long-time friends, including me.” 

Theli considered that observation, his midnight blue eyes pensive as he played with the paint brush in his hands. 

At first Thranduil waited patiently, but then something about his cousin’s posture made him suspect that this wasn’t Theli trying to figure out how to answer. It was him deciding whether he wanted to answer at all. 

“‘Just go ahead and say it,’” Thranduil gently mocked Theli with his own earlier words, “‘Whatever it is.’” 

Theli huffed a laugh, gave Thranduil a half-grin, then became more solemn as he explained, “Well, I suppose I first started feeling that way when I first came to Amon Lanc, after leaving my family in the Villages. I didn’t know anyone that well, and I was used to living in a place where I knew everyone, or almost everyone, and where almost everyone liked me. Doted on me even, many of them.” 

“I can imagine that you would have been an easy elfling to indulge, yes,” Thranduil teased. 

“I don’t know, maybe,” Theli responded with a blush, “But people in Amon Lanc didn’t act the way that I was used to them acting, and it was rare that anyone touched me. The healers I worked with did sometimes, a hand on my shoulder when they were teaching me or when I’d done something well, that type of thing. And the other apprentices did, sometimes, when they were kidding around, or happy that I had helped them with something. But I knew that I didn’t know the rules for when it was welcome to touch someone, even just to lay a hand on their shoulder in return, let alone embrace them. And I didn’t want to ask for something that I wasn’t sure that people would want to give me, so I just . . . didn’t.” 

Thranduil considered that, and the other things he’d learned of Theli in the past day, then asked shrewdly, “You didn’t try because you were too uncertain of the wishes of the new people whom you were meeting? Or because you didn’t want to make any new close connections after your first family sent you away for following your chosen path?” 

Theli inhaled in surprise, then confessed, “A bit of both, really.” 

“Hmm,” Thranduil began, preparing to gently mock those conclusions for the foolishness that they were. 

“Don’t tease, Thranduil,” Theli asked feelingly, “Or be sarcastic. Please. It’s just how I think, about that. It’s not really something that I do on purpose.” 

“Oh, fine, no sarcasm,” Thranduil promised a little regretfully. 

“You can tell me that you think I’m acting foolishly, without sarcasm,” Theli pointed out helpfully. 

“Then I’ll just say that I would prefer for you to be more presumptuous. At least when I am not out in public, ‘Being King,’ as you put it.” 

Theli favored him with a half-smile and said, “I’ve gotten that impression from you over the past few days, yes.” 

“And yet you needed to be told as well?” Thranduil said in not-entirely mocking disappointment, “That’s unlike you.” 

Instead of complaining about the sarcasm, Theli just shook his head and confessed, “I’m not feeling completely my normal self, I guess. I’m feeling . . .” 

“Overwhelmed?” 

Theli nodded, “Yes, that. I haven’t figured out how to put all the new things that have happened into the whole picture in my mind, yet.” 

“That will take a while, I think. It would take anyone a while,” Thranduil advised kindly, “Be patient with yourself. And let me know if anyone else isn’t being patient with you – I’ll have a word with them.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Theli promised with a smile, “but you’re really too busy for that.” 

“Sad, but true,” Thranduil admitted, “I will make time for you though, until you’re more steady with taking into account all the changes. If I seem too busy to you, talk to Fileg, Linwe, Mychanar, Legolas, or Thalion. Or to Nestorion or Luthavar when we get back to the Greenwood. Or to Teliemir, if it’s something military.” 

Theli nodded happily, as if he recognized that as a good idea, “I won’t be around Legolas as much, being back in the Greenwood instead of in Ithilien-en-Edhil after we leave Minas Tirith,” Theli explained, “but he’s told me that he wants me to ask him for help when I could use it, to show that I trust him as he trusts me.” 

Thranduil nodded his approval of that, “As you should.” Thranduil also resigned himself to dealing with Legolas if Legolas took protecting Theli’s well-being too far. But that, too, would be a lesson which Legolas needed to learn, now that he was getting older. 

Having this conversation with Theli made Thranduil think of how he himself had found it hard to make new friends, after his parents became the King and Queen of the Greenwood. When he had been a young child it had been fine enough, but then after he’d become an adolescent, and sensitive to those who might want to take advantage of him, or who were simply in awe of him, it had become quite challenging. Theli was actually one of the youngest of all of Thranduil’s friends who weren’t also part of his own family or their close circle of family friends and retainers. 

But unlike Theli, Thranduil had never had to forsake his home and his people to test his avocation as a warrior. He’d had to GIVE UP his calling as a warrior in order to be King, but being the King of a forest under siege had required a King who was also a warrior, and a warrior who thought like a general. By the Valar, did Thranduil wish that he could have been only his father’s general, and not his father’s replacement. 

“Thranduil?” Theli asked with kind concern, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, really,” Thranduil insisted, “Just old memories.” 

One of many things that Oropher and Felith had done well was to make sure that their child did not hesitate to ‘presume’ upon their affections. And that Thranduil had had many other family members and family friends whom he could rely upon in that respect, as well. Including Rochendil, Rochirion and Nestorion. 

Thinking of that last elf made Thranduil curious about Theli’s relationship with Nestorion. The chief royal healer had never hesitated to embrace Thranduil when he thought that Thranduil could benefit from the affection. 

“Are you still hesitant to presume, even with Nestorion, Theli mellon-nin?” Thranduil asked gently. 

“Not in private, not most of the time, at least,” Theli answered quietly but earnestly, “With Master Nestorion, well . . . he’s like Belegur, in that way. I know that Belegur - and Healer Colleryn his wife – don’t want me to give them their space, most of the time.” Theli paused thoughtfully, then clarified, “Or rather, they all seem to want me in their space.” 

“Take a hint, then, with respect to the rest of us who are your friends,” Thranduil recommended with wry affection. 

“I will, but it’s also that . . .” Theli made a frustrated face, and then said, “I’m short, Thranduil.” 

“I’d noticed.” 

Theli made a frustrated face, “Well, when you’re short, people will treat you like you’re younger than you are. I don’t like that.” 

“I see,” Thranduil said, even though he wasn’t quite sure that he did. Still curious, he asked, “So, you’re better with Nestorion and Belegur?”

“Yes. I mean, Belegur’s always been slapping me on the back and hugging me hard when he likes, ever since we met during the War. That’s just how he is. And Master Nestorion . . . when that idiot of a Sergeant hit me, during the war, and I had a headache after? And I was working a lot the next few days even though Master Nestorion had told me not to? I made myself sick, dizzy and my head hurting much worse. Master Nestorion waited to scold me until I felt better. And when I felt awful, he had me sit down and he sat down next to me and held me. He started to let me go when he thought that I didn’t want that contact, but then he somehow realized that it was more that I didn’t want to let myself want to be held by him because I thought that he wouldn’t want to give that affection. Then he just held on tighter and told me that wasn’t the case. He told me that he could tell that I had a good heart and that he admired how hard I worked, and that he wanted to hold me and reassure me that he cared, even though I’d been working after he’d told me not to.” 

Thranduil merely nodded, to encourage Theli to continue. Thranduil was aware that Theli already knew a great deal about his King, from Theli’s having been a healer in the royal household, as well as from his having been Thranduil’s friend for over an age. Thranduil knew much less about Theli, and he found that he wanted to learn more. In part because he was now responsible for his friend, but mostly because Theli was his friend. Thranduil had been too busy earlier in the Third Age to pay much attention to Theli. Now, he had more time to give, and he found himself wanting to listen. 

“With Nestorion during the War,” Theli reminisced with a fond half-smile, “it was the first time since I’d left the village that anyone had really cared enough about me to keep track of what I was up to. Oh, Master Bregalen cares for me, I know that, but he . . . he wasn’t much in the way of supervision, I suppose. If he knew that I’d done something dangerous, he might give me a few sharp words and tell me ‘not to do that again.’ If I wasn’t paying attention and I wasn’t there when he wanted me, he might scold me. And sometimes I’d get a scathing lecture about responsibility, but it was because of what I’d failed to do for him, not because I’d done something against the rules that applied to everyone.” 

“I’ve never known you to be late for a shift, or otherwise shirk your duties,” Thranduil mused. Theli could be scattered but he was generally very responsible, particularly when it came to his profession as a healer. Master Bregalen, on the other hand, worked on what was euphemistically referred to as ‘forest time.’ He tended to show up whenever he was truly needed, but he did not always remember appointments that he’d made at any given time. Thranduil imagined that made the elder elf a difficult healer to work with, in some respects. 

It had not always been an easy trait for those who knew Bregalen by his second trade, that of tinker and toy-maker. Thranduil’s wife Minaethiel had begun to learn how to make puppets and dolls from Bregalen when she and Fileg had become snowed in at Meordanas by the White Mountains. They had been visiting Thranduil and Linwe, who had been posted in that town as soldiers at the time. Bregalen and Minaethiel had become very fond of one another, but even so, it had not been easy for the very busy Lady Minaethiel to find time to visit with an itinerant master healer and tinker. Minaethiel had learned in time that she had to make plans to see Bregalen for lessons or visits by scheduling them for ‘the week that the robins return to Amon Lanc in the spring’ or ‘the third snow of winter,’ rather than on a more traditional date. 

“Oh, I was never late for a shift, Thranduil,” Theli replied matter-of-factly, “At least not without as much advance warning as I could give. You know, if I was hurt, or held up on a scouting mission, and wouldn’t be back in time. It was just that I always ‘knew’ when Bregalen wanted me, if I was paying attention, and Bregalen knew that. Even if I had the day off and I was in another camp, I knew.”

“You are good at showing up when you’re wanted,” Thranduil noted, somewhat suspicious now. 

“Sort of on purpose,” Theli admitted, “With Elrond, and with cousin Emlyn and his elflings, I could do that pretty fast, by the second or third time we met. Tell when they wanted me or were thinking about me, I mean. It took longer with you, but only a few months longer. With Nestorion, and I guess with other people whom I don’t have a blood connection to, it takes much longer. But eventually I can ‘feel’ if they’re looking for me, if I spend enough time with them, or come to care for them deeply. It’s usually limited by distance, though.” 

“Is that how you so often knew when I was free to give you swordsmanship lessons, during the War of the Last Alliance?” Thranduil queried. 

“I think so,” Theli replied pensively, “Although I don’t really understand most of what I can do, mind-magic wise.” 

“That I can believe,” Thranduil teased. 

Theli shook his head, but seemed amused rather than bothered by that sarcasm. 

“Go on, though. You were telling me about Bregalen ‘watching out’ for you during the War, at least in the way that he’d watch out for a stray cat he’d taken a liking to,” Thranduil prompted. 

Theli shook his head again at that unflattering description, but he agreeably enough continued, “So Master Bregalen got mad if I wasn’t paying enough attention to come when he wanted me, or if I was too far away to come fast, even if he’d given me permission to be that far away.” 

With a smile that was partially amused, but also partially revealed his frustration at having been thwarted, Theli added, “Permission which I didn’t even know that I’d needed. Needed that permission, I mean, until Master Nestorion found out that I wandered all throughout all the camps during my off shifts, and that I still went on scouting trips with my cousin. He tried to get Bregalen not to let me, especially about going on the scouting trips, but all he succeeded in doing was getting Master Bregalen to ‘require’ that I tell him where I was going before I went there.” Theli shook his head with another smile, “And even then, Master Bregalen usually forgot where I’d told him that I’d be.” 

“That does sounds like something that Bregalen would do, yes.” Thranduil agreed, with a smile of his own. 

“Right, that’s just him,” Theli affirmed, “But I didn’t mind it, because I’d known him a little, from before I left my village. And because, after I left the village and before the War, no one else ever took as much of an interest in me as Master Bregalen. I mean, practically everyone, especially the healers, were nice to me – particularly Healer Lisgon, who was in charge of training the new apprentices, back then. But there were so many of us that he didn’t notice me much, except when my trouble reading and writing Sindarin caused me problems. In any case, I didn’t get into trouble much. I was mostly focused on learning, and when I wasn’t, I was doing things like going swimming or dancing with the other apprentice healers and apprentice craftsmen. Or volunteering with the foresters. Nothing dangerous or that I wasn’t supposed to be doing, at any rate. And the healers were so busy, with all the deaths from orc raids and bandits, and with getting ready for the War.” 

Thranduil narrowed his eyes in memory. Valar, had it burned that such foul creatures and Men had made their way into his Wood. And Thranduil knew that his father had felt the same. 

“It was actually after an orc attack that I met Master Bregalen again,” Theli continued, “I had been on a two-day trip southwest of Amon Lanc, helping the foresters keep track of beaver dens and also collecting medicinal and cooking herbs. We came upon the remains of a wagon train that had been set upon by orcs. Master Bregalen got there not long after we did, and I helped him with patching up the living. He liked that I was good at figuring out who couldn’t be saved. And prioritizing what had to be done for the rest, and when, so that they could live. I know all of that sounds awful, but it’s just how it is, with post-combat injuries and not enough healers. At the time, Master Bregalen just said that I wasn’t a ‘panicker,’ but that’s what I think he meant, by that.” 

“I’ve heard him say that about others as well, including Adan, Linwe and myself,” Thranduil agreed, “It’s fairly high praise from Bregalen, I think. And I must agree. You might make poor decisions at times, but you are not a ‘panicker.’” 

Theli smiled shyly in response to that, then said, “Not much point in panicking, is there? I try to just get on with whatever it is, and panic later. You know.” 

“Yes, I’m familiar,” said Thranduil, as that was pretty much his way of dealing with crises as well. 

“I know that you are,” Theli agreed with a cheeky grin, “It’s a good quality in a King.” 

“It’s not a bad quality for a royal lord supporting his King, either,” Thranduil replied pointedly. 

“Don’t worry,” Theli assured him as his smile turned rueful, “I’m sure that I have many other bad qualities in that respect.” 

“Hmm. I think that I can inspire you to work on rectifying that,” Thranduil part-bantered, part-threatened. 

Theli sighed, “Yes, I expect that you can. With your sarcasm, if nothing else.” 

“Brat,” Thranduil reprimanded lightly, tugging on a lock of Theli’s hair again, “It was Bregalen who asked for you to go to the War of the Last Alliance then, as his apprentice?” 

“Yes. After we met again, outside Amon Lanc.” 

“Did Bregalen know how old you really were then?” Thranduil wondered.

“Yes,” Theli replied with a wry grin, “Or thereabouts, at least. He knew me when I was just a little elfling. But he’s Nandorin, too, Thranduil. Age wasn’t important to us, not in the same way that it was to the proper Greenwood settlements or even the more isolated Sylvan villages which had regular contact with the rest of the forest. It was about WHAT you could do, not whether you were old enough to do it.” 

“1,500 years ‘wasn’t important?’” Thranduil half-teased, half-criticized. 

“Mmm. Well, it actually started as a mistake,” Theli confessed. 

“A mistake,” Thranduil repeated skeptically.

“Yes . . .” 

To be Continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: 
> 
> I'm sorry for ending this chapter so abruptly! If I'd let it go until the end of that conversation between Thranduil and Theli, it would have gotten entirely too long. So the rest of the conversation is in Chapter 35.   
> I would love to hear from you if you are still enjoying this story. The 'kudos' button only works once, so the only way that I can tell if people are still reading is if they leave a comment, even if it is just 'kudos!' Thank you for reading either way! 
> 
> More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Theli finish their conversation. Theli finishes his letter, and Legolas extends an invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, friend Linwe, and General Rochendil, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please read all warnings Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes chapter 34: 
> 
>  
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs
> 
> “To the loyal and to the blood-lovers, in the good families and in the fiery dynasties, life is family and family is life. It is the same people who give advice and their vices to live well who turn out to be the ones who give resource and reason to live long.” ― Criss Jami 
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 34: 
> 
> “Did Bregalen know how old you really were then?” Thranduil wondered.
> 
> “Yes,” Theli replied with a wry grin, “Or thereabouts, at least. He knew me when I was just a little elfling. But he’s Nandorin, too, Thranduil. Age wasn’t important to us, not in the same way that it was to the proper Greenwood settlements or even the more isolated Sylvan villages that had regular contact with the rest of the forest.” 
> 
> “1,500 years ‘wasn’t important?’” Thranduil half-teased, half-criticized. 
> 
> “Mmm. Well, it actually started as a mistake,” Theli confessed. 
> 
> “A mistake,” Thranduil repeated skeptically.
> 
> “Yes . . .”

“Yes. When I first got to Amon Lanc and came to the Healing Hall there to ask them if they would please train me, Healer Lisgon asked me to write down how old I was. I meant to write ‘somewhere between 100 and 200 years old,’ but I forgot how many zeros there were supposed to be in in thousands in Sindarin,” Theli explained, with an expression that was torn between impish and apologetic, “I wasn’t accustomed to big numbers, you see.” 

Thranduil laughed at that, then asked, “So you wrote down ‘between 1,000 and 2,000 years old,’ and then you just decided to stick with it when you realized your mistake?” 

Theli smiled and shared in a in a partly-apologetic, partly-proud voice, “Well, no one really looked at my age that closely, at first. I was older than a lot of the healing apprentices, but I’d come from a Nandorin village so I still needed a lot of the same reading and writing lessons. More, even. I was younger than some of the other apprentices, the ones who’d come to healing from a different profession, like Belegur came to healing from soldiering. Of course, Belegur himself was a full army healer by then, but there were others like him who were apprentices with me. And I was more experienced than the younger and the older ones when it came to some things, like with the skills and techniques and medicines that my Grandda Eldun had taught me, or had had me help him with. I’d even been the healer for our village for short times, when Grandda Eldun was off visiting other villages and my father was . . . well, you know.” 

Thranduil merely nodded. He knew that Theli didn’t like to talk about how his father had basically fallen apart after Theli’s mother’s death. Theli’s father Eurig had spent most of Theli’s infancy and youth caught up in a haze of strong herbs and home-made liquor, leaving his son’s raising to his own parents, Eirian and Eldun/Elurin. 

Meanwhile, Theli continued, “And then Master Bregalen asked for me to go with him to the War, and I wanted to go. I’d noticed that younger elves who were my actual age weren’t getting to go, even when they wanted to. And I’d also noticed that generally they weren’t given as many interesting things to do. I wanted to do interesting things. But mostly, I wanted to go defend my home. Grandda Eldun wasn’t perfect, but he had taught me that anything you can do to help protect your people, you should do, no matter how old you are or aren’t.” 

“So, you lied,” Thranduil concluded, trying to keep any hint of judgment out of his voice. He wasn’t really ‘angry’ with Theli for having lied about his age. But he didn’t approve of it, either. 

Theli must have picked up on the disapproval anyway, because he winced infinitesimally as he admitted, “Yes. I lied. Healer Lisgon asked me how old I was, after Bregalen asked for me, and I said that I was closer to 2,000 then 1,000. Healer Lisgon gave me his recommendation to go, but he flagged my age, I think, when he gave the list to Master Healer Remdir, who was in charge of the main Healing Hall in Amon Lanc, back then. Whenever the list of healers and apprentices who were going to War went all the way to Elder Nestaeth, she called me to her office to ask me about my age. We’d met, a few times, and she’d always been nice, if very exacting in her standards for us apprentices. But healing is important and careful work, so I found her exactness reassuring. She was actually much easier to deal with than Grandda Eldun, in some ways, because she actually did stop to explain herself without getting angry about it, if she realized that we hadn’t already learned whatever it was that she expected us to already know.” 

“Yes, Nestaeth is very fair,” Thranduil agreed, “I wouldn’t think that she would have been an easy elf to lie to, though.” 

“She wasn’t,” Theli explained ruefully, “And I did feel badly about lying to her, but I didn’t see a reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to go to War with Master Bregalen. And I’d had some time to think about how old I wanted to be, since Healer Lisgon first asked me again. I knew that I should go as low as I could, but high enough that I was still old enough to go to War. So I said that I was about 1,500, and then I used the same tactic to lie to Elder Nestaeth that I’d used successfully with Grandda Eldun. When you’re trying to find a lie - when anyone is, I mean – you look for uncertainty. For a falsehood. I stayed calm, and I used my power to think just of the the forest. The forest doesn’t lie, at least not usually. Normally, it just is.” 

Thranduil’s eyes met Theli’s for a moment, as they both thought of lies that the trees of the Greenwood had agreed to tell, for Thranduil. The King indicated with a grimace that he didn’t want to talk about that now. 

Theli obligingly continued with his own story, “Grandda Eldun had always believed me when I lied to him that way. He usually just thought that I was daydreaming, and lectured me for that.” 

“And you only lied to your grandfather to protect yourself from him trying to teach you more of his mind-magic,” Thranduil said gently, “since he hurt you almost whenever he did that.” Thranduil had already known some of that from Theli, and from Galadriel and Elrond. Now he knew more from Elladan by way of Glorfindel. 

“He didn’t hurt me on purpose,” Theli corrected firmly, “And I also lied to him, a little, when I was helping my friend Silaen get around Grandda’s border to visit her beloved.” 

“Hmm,” Thranduil replied, doing his best to hide his anger with Eldun/Elurin, and his disapproval that Theli did not seem to realize how much his grandfather had hurt him over the centuries. However, this did not seem to be a promising moment to raise that concern with Theli. So Thranduil merely asked, “So, Nestaeth believed you? About being 1,500 years old?” 

Theli shook his head at his own folly, “I think that she was still dubious. She made me go with her to visit Elder Faelind. They talked about other things and I didn’t know why I was there, but then Elder Nestaeth worked the conversation back around to how old I was. She very sternly told me to tell Elder Faelind how old I was, and to tell him the truth. I told him that I honestly wasn’t sure how old I was – which was true. And I also told him that I thought I was about 1,500 years old, which wasn’t true, but I did the same thing again – made myself calm and used my power to think just about the forest, not about the lie. Elder Faelind told Elder Nestaeth that it seemed ‘incredible to him too,’ but that I wasn’t lying. And then I was allowed to go with Master Bregalen to the War of the Last Alliance.” 

With a disapproving shake of his head and a smile that a little amused despite his disapproval, Thranduil tapped the blank parchment in front of Theli and drolly suggested, “You might want to mention in that letter to Nestorion how old you really are, by the way. And ask him to tell his foster-mother Nestaeth.” The chestnut-haired elleth who supervised the healer’s guild and sat on the Council of Elders was stern, but she had a soft spot for her son and favored pupil Nestorion. 

“Oh, Elder Nestaeth and Master Nestorion already know how old I am,” Theli blithely assured Thranduil. 

“How old you aren’t,” Thranduil corrected. 

“Yes, that,” Theli agreed, “They didn’t find out during the War, though. Or that long ago at all, really. You see, they’d guessed that I was lying, about the treason.” 

“Fileg has taken to calling it the ‘not quite treason,’” Thranduil pointed out, while concealing his own irritation with Theli for not having told at least Thranduil the truth to start with. 

Theli made a frustrated face then complained, “I hope that he doesn’t take to calling it that around anyone else,” before breaking into a half-smile at Fileg’s irreverence for what had been a very serious matter. 

“He probably knows not to,” Thranduil assured, pleased by the half-smile, but making a note to remind Fileg not to repeat that term in front of a wider audience. 

“Yes, he’s usually discreet,” Theli agreed with some relief. 

“So,” Thranduil asked, “they had to guess that you’d lied, about the treason? You didn’t just tell them the truth, either?” Thranduil tried to hide his continued annoyance about having been kept in the dark about the matter. In part because he hadn’t figured out whom he was more perturbed with – himself, for his own lack of perception; Theli, for lying; or Nestorion and Nestaeth, for having let Theli get away with the lie and not sharing the truth with the King who loved them both. 

“Yes, they guessed,” Theli confirmed solemnly, “I’ve never told anyone the truth about that, not of my own choice, at least. I swore to my soldiers that I wouldn’t. Master Nestorion and Elder Nestaeth both guessed, that I’d lied about what happened with the foray after the slavers. And then they swore healer’s oaths to keep it secret if I would tell them what had really happened.” 

“Ah. I see,” replied Thranduil, somewhat mollified. 

“So I told them,” Theli continued, “And then they were still really worried about me, even after, because I had an awful headache. So I told them why I had the headache, because of using my power to get away with lying to you, Captain Linwe, General Rochendil, and Elder Dirnaith, even though you’re all pretty perceptive, and even though you and Linwe knew me pretty well. Master Nestorion just nodded, then asked if I’d ever used that ability to lie to him before. And I had, about my age during the War when he questioned it, then. So I told him that I had, one other time, and asked him to keep that a secret, too. Then I told him how old I really was.” 

“What did Nestorion say?” Thranduil asked curiously. 

Theli answered with a half-smile, “That I was a foolish elfling, I think. That he would have sent me straight home, during the War if he’d known how old I was- or wasn’t. And that I’d made things harder for myself, by saying that I was older than I was, because people had expected more of me. He’d expected more of me, and he had punished me the way that he would have punished a 1,500 year old elf instead of a 175 year old elf, when I did foolish things.” 

“172 years old, wasn’t it?” Thranduil corrected cynically. 

“Ish,” Theli replied, with a wave of his hand.

That answer coupled with the irreverent gesture made Thranduil laugh, although he still criticized, “You’re not really helping your case, you know.” 

“My case on the age point wasn’t great to begin with,” Theli admitted with a rueful smile, “I knew that by then, and I didn’t want to get sent home during the War, or stopped from doing interesting things afterward.” Theli made a disgusted face and then asked, “Can you imagine how bossy Galad and the other healers would have been if they’d known that I was just 180ish years old then?” 

“You still should have come clean,” Thranduil reprimanded firmly but not unkindly, “I would have kept you from getting dismissed from your post.” 

“Maybe,” Theli conceded with a sigh, “Nestorion said that, too. He even said that he felt badly, for not having realized how old I really was, and for having treated me like I was older. But how was he to know? And it didn’t stop him from being there for me, during the War, and after. He was always reliable, you know?” 

“Yes, I know,” Thranduil agreed, with a fond smile of his own. 

“He was always consistent, in how he treated me,” Theli continued, “It meant a lot to me, even when it made me feel thwarted, it still made me feel safe, and cared for. Master Healer Elrond made me feel cared for and valuable too, but he made exceptions for me. I think he did it because exceptions had been made for him and I reminded him of himself, and also in part because he wanted me to KNOW that I could come to him for help, instead of doing something dangerous. And he succeeded in that, too.” 

“I’m glad,” said Thranduil quietly but sincerely, “I know that Elrond cared for you and understood what you were going through.” 

“He did, I think,” Theli agreed, “And I was grateful. That was such a terrible time, that War. Even so, Master Healer Elrond and Master Healer Nestorion were both so patient and encouraging with all of my questions, and, despite everything that was going on around us and all of the deaths, they both made sure that I knew that they liked me and that they thought that I had a future as a healer.” 

“I really needed both of them, during the War of the Last Alliance. Both of them really listened, and cared when I had something to say or was worried about something I felt like nobody else had noticed. I needed Elrond to help me with what I felt like I needed to to do, and Nestorion to call me out when I didn’t really need to do something, and to hold me accountable for what I’d done as if I weren’t different from anybody else.” 

“They had different reactions when I did something that I could do because of my Grandda, who he is and what he’d taught me, but that I shouldn’t have been able to do, at that point in my training. Like, I learned just from watching Elrond how to compel someone to sleep. Elrond was quite happy, because he’d never had anyone learn it so quickly, like he’d learned it. I think he felt less alone. Master Nestorion didn’t find out until after the war, but when he did, he was like, ‘Oh, you can do that already? You must have been paying very close attention. I’m proud of you for that, but you must not ever again use that ability unless a patient dearly needs sleep. And here is the start of what else you need to know.’ He was much calmer about it all, really. But again, I needed them both when I was young– Master Elrond to know that I wasn’t alone, and Master Nestorion to treat me as if I was just me.” 

“I’m glad that you had them both,” Thranduil replied solemnly, remembering well the horror and desperation of that long-ago time, and how Theli had been responsible for a number of rare bright moments during those days, “And, no offense to Elrond, but I’m glad that you came back to Greenwood after the war. I’d seen you with Elrond a great deal, in the final months of the War. I hadn’t been sure that you would want to leave him, to come back to us.” 

Theli shook his head, “The Greenwood has always been my home, Thranduil. I wanted to come home. I couldn’t help you that much then, and I knew that. I couldn’t help Master Healer Elrond that much, either. He was . . . really broken up, over his foster-brother the King’s death.” 

“I know that he was,” Thranduil agreed sorrowfully. 

“I could tell that Master Elrond wanted me to come back to Imladris with him, but he didn’t press me when I chose my home,” Theli explained, “He just made sure that I knew I’d always be welcome in his home. I might have gone with him to Imladris, if I hadn’t been welcomed back to my home, too. But Nestorion wanted me, and you didn’t not want me as a royal healer, and that was that.” 

Thranduil laughed lightly, “I’m glad that my ‘not not wanting you’ was so persuasive to you. And that Nestorion managed to get it through your thick head that you were wanted, in the Greenwood.” 

“Me too,” Theli said shyly, “He was always good about that. When I left Greenwood’s army to join Imladris’ army because Elrond and Glorfindel would let me fight as well as heal, Nestorion was really angry about it, because he thought that I wasn’t trained for it, and because ‘his healers weren’t supposed to be combatants, except in dire circumstances.’” 

“He was right, about both things,” Thranduil said sadly but sternly, “If I’d been older, or . . . less preoccupied with my own grief, I might have stopped you from leaving our army to fight for Elrond’s. Instead of just wishing you well and agreeing that I’d take you back, after the War.” 

Theli favored Thranduil with a fond but skeptical expression, then retorted, “Doubtful, Thranduil. That you could have stopped me, that is. My next plan was running off to join the Gondorian or Belfalas levies. They needed pike-men for their infantries.” 

“What an absolutely appalling idea, Ecthelion! Do you know what the life expectancy of the average infantry pike-man was during the War of the Last Alliance?” Thranduil demanded in shock and burgeoning exasperation. 

“Yes, I do,” Theli replied seriously, “because I helped to patch them up - or failed to do so well enough - when I wasn’t on duty or needed in the Greenwood healer’s tents. I knew that the pike-men needed help, and I would have been a good fit for the job, Thranduil. Even then, I was strong as well as short. I had the right build and temperament for a pikeman.” 

“Yes, you were that. The peredhel in you, I would suppose.” Thranduil allowed, letting his belated worry go since the whole thing was a hypothetical situation from over three thousand years ago, although he still felt the need to ask with a shake of his head, “did anyone else know that you were thinking of that?” 

“Master Healer Elrond, I think,” Theli answered thoughtfully, “I went to him and told him that I just couldn’t bear to wait through the battles until the wounded started coming in, that I felt like I just had to fight. Anyway, it was around then that he and Glorfindel offered me protecting their siege engines during the battles, which was mostly out of the actual fighting, most of the time, but it freed up better warriors for the front lines, so it was still helpful.” 

“Being a healer was helpful, too, you know,” Thranduil reminded him critically, “We were always short of those. We still need all that we have, even today. I don’t need you as a soldier anymore, Theli. But I do need you as a healer.” And just as Theli, his friend and now his cousin too, but Thranduil wasn’t quite sure how to say that, or whether now was even the right time to say it. 

“I know,” Theli replied with a sigh, “But I knew that Master Elrond wouldn’t stop me from healing or learning more about healing, if I was under his command during the latter part of the war. I did have to break my apprentice contract with Master Bregalen in order to go and join Lord Elrond’s army, though. Master Bregalen let me - he said that I was going to try to get myself killed one way or another, and that at least if Elrond was watching out for me, I might survive.” Theli paused pensively, then ventured, “I think that Master Breglaen might have known. That Elrond was my cousin, I mean.” 

“I have reason to believe that Bregalen did know,” Thranduil confirmed quietly, remembering his own interview with Bregalen from just a few days ago, “I’ll tell you about it, later.” 

“Thank you,” said Theli curiously. When Thranduil didn’t volunteer any further information, the younger elf continued, “Anyway, after I had broken my apprentice contract with Master Bregalen, technically I didn’t have any ties to Greenwood anymore. When I said so to Master Nestorion, he said that I was wrong about that. Master Nestorion said that since Master Bregalen had released me, that just meant that I was Master Nestorion’s apprentice now. Because nothing that I could do could make me not a Greenwood healing apprentice, and he was the senior member of Greenwood’s Healer’s Guild in Mordor, so I was his responsibility, and he wanted me. When he realized how important it was to me to be able to fight, and Master Healer Elrond assured him that I would be mostly out of the thick of the fighting, Master Nestorion made a deal with Master Elrond, that they could share me as both of their apprentice, for the rest of the War. But Master Nestorion always intended for me to come back afterward, and he made it as easy as possible for me to do that.” 

“I’m glad.” 

“Me too,” Theli said with a rueful smile and a frustrated wave of his hand, “but that doesn’t help me at all with this letter! How do you apologize to someone who’s always given you everything you need, even when you didn’t know that you’d needed it? And after having just done the absolute opposite of one of the few things they’ve ever asked of you, again and again, and even after having promised that you’d try to do better?” 

“I take it that it ‘bothers’ Nestorion when you refer to your life as expendable ‘relative’ to the lives of others?” Thranduil inquired sardonically. 

“Yes,” Theli answered unhappily, “He really doesn’t like it.” 

“Imagine that,” Thranduil remarked drolly, then made a greater effort to find sympathy when Theli gave him a despondent look in response to his sarcasm. 

And Thranduil was somewhat sympathetic. He’d been in a not entirely dissimilar position at times himself, having to explain to his parents or his mentors why he’d felt the need to, say, evade his guards so that he could solve a problem without their help. Or put himself at risk to help a friend, without first asking an elder for aid. And it had been almost worse when Thrandui had had to make that explanation and apology first by letter rather than in person. 

Thranduil thought about that, and about how Theli, too, had sometimes given Thranduil what he needed, even though the King hadn’t known that he’d needed it. Things like a moment of cheer, a moment of peace, someone who didn’t treat him like a King in private (and sometimes, unfortunately, also in public). 

“You can thank him by trying yet again to do better,” Thranduil then advised empathetically, “and perhaps also by trying to give him what he needs, too. Here, I think that means by trying again not to choose, in the future, to risk your own life as if it’s worth less than another’s.” 

“But I had to protect Orophin, and Melpomaen and Elladan and the others, because I love them and because they’re younger,” Theli protested, “Like I protect Legolas.” 

Thranduil placed his hand on Theli’s nearer shoulder and shook him gently as he reprimanded, “I can understand, even laud, your protectiveness towards my children. However, I want to know when you’ve done whatever you’ve done for them. If it was dangerous, at least. That way I can better protect them, and you, too.” 

“Right,” Theli conceded with a determined sigh, “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” 

“I’m going to hold you to that, Theli,” Thranduil said, reinforcing the promise with a squeeze to Theli’s shoulder. Then, tapping a finger on the blank letter, Thranduil instructed, “’Ada Nestorion,’” I should think, as a start. Because something else you can do for him is to treat him as if he’s important enough to you, for you to obey him as you would a father. That term of address would be the best for that, I believe.” 

“But I don’t want to be presumptuous,” Theli worried, “and what if he views this more as a dereliction-of-healer-duty issue?” 

Thranduil sighed, and queried, “And what have we talked about tonight, in respect of presumption, Theli?” 

“That you’d like me to have more of it, sometimes,” Theli recalled. 

“And, by extension, that Nestorion might as well,” Thranduil pointed out, tapping the parchment again. 

“And you wouldn’t say that if you didn’t think it was so,” Theli said, mostly to himself, then turned to his letter and began writing out ‘Dear Ada Nestorion.’ 

Thranduil got to his feet, advising Theli, “I’m going to work on my own correspondence, but I’ll be right here by the fire, if you get stalled again. In my experience, in writing these letters, it is worthwhile to mention that you have already realized that you made a mistake – or a number of them, in this case.” 

“Right,” Theli agreed with a blush and a sigh. 

“And do presume, when you wish,” Thranduil reminded him. 

Theli nodded his understanding, then added with an impish smile, “Except in public. I do have to say, in my own defense, that I have never again addressed you as if you were an idiot in front of three foreign leaders and half the Wood. And you didn’t think I could manage that.” 

Thranduil laughed at that, before bantering back, “Our time on Middle Earth isn’t over yet, cousin-mine. But I do have much more faith in you to manage that than I did back then, when I first made you a lord. And I hope, especially after these past two days, that you have more confidence in me not to send you away again, do you not?” 

“I do,” Theli agreed quietly, but with surety. 

With an approving nod, Thranduil encouraged, “Write your letter. Nestorion won’t send you away, either. Not from your home, or from his heart.” 

“Right,” Theli said, more confidently than the day before, but still as if some corner of his heart harbored doubt. Then he sighed and back to his letter, but he but seemed both more resolved and less frustrated than he had before Thranduil’s interruption. 

Thranduil had settled into the rhythm of reading reports and drafting replies, his own concentration aided by the semi-regular sounds of Theli’s quill scratching against parchment, and the fire snapping. So intent was he on his task that he didn’t hear Theli’s question at first. 

“Hmm?” Thranduil asked, his attention still half on the security of trade routes out of Dale and along the revived Great Forest Road. 

“I said,” Theli repeated patiently, “Do you think that I really need to tell Master Nestorion about actually going into Mordor?” 

“Do you want me to tell him instead?” Thranduil asked levelly, while at the same time marking spots along the Forest Road which he felt were most ripe for ambush by bandits or other adverse elements. 

“No, thank you,” Theli replied tartly, then complained, “You’re not being very much help right now, Thranduil.” 

“You don’t need help with that question,” Thranduil rejoined smartly, “You just need a reminder not to be stupid. Keep writing.” 

Theli grumbled something under his breath. But he obeyed, so Thranduil left it alone. 

For the next twenty minutes the meditative sounds of the fire in the grate, Theli’s writing, and the wind against the windows took Thranduil through renewed trade routes and into a petition about which newly reestablished elven lords and village elders were responsible for what forms of road maintenance, and concomitantly entitled to building Inns and food carts around which parts of the roads. It was a topic that Thranduil did not care about, other than that the solution be as fair as they could make it. He made a note for Lothgail to look at it, and maybe bring in Legolas and Thalion, since they had been involved with helping Faramir and Eowyn to draw up similar new and revised laws regarding the roads and newly enlarged messenger routes within Ithilien. 

It was then that the sounds of a quill moving over parchment ceased, which somehow drew Thranduil’s attention much more rapidly than Theli’s earlier question. 

The King glanced over to find Theli with his quill still in his hands, but turned away from his table, with his blank gaze fixed on the fire. 

“What is it?” Thranduil inquired. 

Theli shook his head, still looking into the fire

More gently, Thranduil asked, “Can I help?” 

Theli burst from his seat and paced over to stare out the window all in one movement, as if he couldn’t bear to stay still any longer. He looked silently out at the stars coming out bright against the darkening sky, while Thranduil waited patiently for an answer. Before Thranduil felt the need to speak again, Theli smiled faintly and repeated, “Can I help you?’ Do you know what Lady Celebrian used to say, about that phrase?” 

“Celebrian and I discussed many, many things over the years, but I can’t recall as that was ever one of them.” 

“She told me, several times, that it’s just another way of saying, ‘I love you,’” Theli shared, still with a faint but warm smile, “especially when it was her husband Elrond saying it. And that the way to say it back was to answer, ‘Yes, I’d like your help.’” 

Thranduil couldn’t help but smile at that, at how right it was for Celebrian and Elrond. And at how many times over the years Elrond had asked Thranduil if he’d wanted help. Thranduil was very was glad, now, for all the times he’d said yes. And for the times Thranduil had asked Elrond if he could help him, as well. With a reminiscent smile, Thranduil shared with Theli his view that, “Celebrian knew Elrond well. And I’m sure that he would want to help you, if he were here. I am here. Would you like my help?” 

Theli took a deep breath, then said with resolve, “Thranduil, I . . . I don’t want to write anything, about what happened in Khand.” 

Thranduil caught his breath, then began soothingly, “Theli . . .” Then he stopped, because he didn’t know what to say to his old friend and new cousin. All the more so since the King didn’t know if he wanted Theli to know that Thranduil had gotten most of the story from Elladan. 

Hastily, Theli assured him, “I’m fine with what happened, Thranduil. Really. But I don’t want Nestorion to know about it. Or for anyone to know about it. You said that you wouldn’t say anything about what I said, last night while you helped me walk my path. Please.” 

Thranduil felt torn between deep guilt, pity for Theli, and anger. He did his best not to let any of that show. Technically, he had no reason for guilt. Thranduil hadn’t broken his word not to repeat what Theli had said about Khand. No, he’d just forced Elladan to break his. The King put his work down and went to stand beside Theli by the window.

“Cousin-mine,” Thranduil said gently as he laid a hand upon Theli’s shoulder, “don’t you think that it would be best? If Nestorion knew, so that he could help you?” 

“I don’t need help,” Theli countered composedly, “I got help, already. It – all of it - bothers me so infrequently, Thranduil. Last night was just a bad night. Everyone has them.” 

“Yes, everyone has them,” Thranduil had to agree. Eru knew, he did, “And I can completely understand why you wouldn’t want to say something about what happened in a letter. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But you should tell Nestorion when we get back to the Greenwood, Theli.” 

Thranduil took a deep breath of his own, and confessed that, “I would want to know, if you were one of my sons. Otherwise, how could I help him, as a parent should?” 

Shaking his head, Theli reiterated, “I don’t want him to know, Thranduil.” 

“Do you want to tell me more of what happened?” Thranduil offered kindly. 

“No.” 

Thranduil sighed, “If you change your mind, my offer will still be there.” 

“Thank y . . .” Theli began, then stopped himself with a teasing smile as he remembered that Thranduil didn’t want to be thanked. Then he said instead, “I mean, I appreciate that?” 

“Good catch,” Thranduil praised wryly. 

Theli gave him a half-hearted smile and went back to his letter-in-progress. 

“Leave it out of the letter, if you wish,” Thranduil recommended, “It is . . . it seems to be, the type of thing that would be hard to write, or to read. When you’re ready to tell Nestorion, I’ll be there to support you, if you wish.” 

Theli sighed again, “I can’t imagine telling him, Thranduil. It’s enough that I have to carry it, and that Elladan does. I don’t want anyone else to have to.” 

“I’m sorry, mellon-nin.” 

With a shrug and a half-hearted smile, Theli proposed, “I suppose it was my own fault. You know, for having made the poor decision to be there in the first place.” 

“Don’t think that,” Thranduil disagreed strongly, “No matter where you’ve put yourself, no one ever has the right to . . .” Thranduil was about to say ‘hurt you like that,’ but given that he wasn’t supposed to know much of what happened, he ended, “do something that gives you nightmares.” 

With a huff, Theli remarked, “Captain Glorfindel would say different, I think. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” Thranduil denied firmly, then offered, ”Would you like to ask him?” 

“No, thank you,” Theli replied, equally firmly. 

“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it, Pest,” Thranduil said staunchly, “Can you do that?” 

Theli stayed quiet for a few moments while he considered that, then answered, “I think so. I mean, logically I know nothing that happened except for being there and trying to gather information was my choice.” 

“Good. Do tell me if you have trouble remembering that.” 

“I’ll try.” 

That answer did not particularly reassure Thranduil. In fact, he was truly hesitant to the let the issue go without forcing Theli to visit a mind-healer. But he was also mindful of what Elladan had said, that doing so might be more harm to Theli than good, and that Elladan was a good mind-healer himself. 

As a compromise with himself, Thranduil insisted, “Promise me that you’ll tell me if you start blaming yourself for what happened in Khand, Theli mellon-nin. Look me in the eye, promise me, and don’t you dare lie.” 

Theli looked up, startled, and assured Thranduil, “I wouldn’t lie. I promise that I will tell you.” 

Thranduil squeezed his cousin’s nearer shoulder and allowed, “Well enough. Do you want help with the rest of your letter?” 

With a sigh, Theli turned his attention back to the letter, “If I’m skipping the rest of Khand, then I just have Mordor the last time to get through.” 

“Have you included the welcome news that you are my cousin?” Thranduil asked. 

“No, not yet,” Theli answered absently, then he turned around and explained to Thranduil, “I didn’t want to try to use that good thing to try to distract him from being angry about all the other things.” 

“Tell him at the end, then,” Thranduil directed fondly, “The story will get out anyway. I think that he’d like to hear about that from you, too. In part so that he knows that you’re not entirely miserable right now. You aren’t, are you?” 

“No. I’m not,” Theli affirmed with genuine smile, “Not anywhere near entirely. And a lot of that’s because you’ve helped me a lot, already.” 

Thranduil squeezed Theli’s shoulder one more time, then went back to his own task. 

For a time, all was quiet again except for the scrape of quills across parchment. The next time Theli stopped writing, it was with a sigh of relief. 

“Done, then?” 

“As good as it will get. Can I send it out with your dispatches?” 

“You may. Seal it and then bring it here. I’ll put it with the rest.” 

Theli nodded gratefully. Once his letter to Nestorion was with Thranduil’s other time-sensitive correspondence, the healer stretched and sighed. 

“Do you have other letters to write?” Thranduil assumed that Theli did, as he knew that Theli had many friends in the Greenwood outside of the royal healers. 

“I do, yes,” Theli confirmed with another sigh, “But this was the most important. I’ve asked Master Nestorion to inform Elder Nestaeth, and the other royal healers, and the apothecarists. I really should write individual letters to at least Lindor, Tuilas, and Pelewen, but I think that they’ll understand. I need to write Elder Angolbrennil, Soldier-Healer Rhovandir, and Cuimborn, at least. And soon.” 

“Is that all?” Thranduil asked skeptically. 

“No, not near all,” Theli confirmed with a rueful smile, “But Elder Angolbrennil can tell the alchemists, Rhovandir can tell the warriors and army healers, and Cuimborn can tell the other crafters.” 

The strong and stalwart blacksmith and weaponsmith Cuimborn and his leather-worker wife Rendissiel were the parents of one of Thranduil’s son Thandrin’s good friends, Sadronuan, who had died at Thandrin’s side. Thranduil knew them fairly well. Well enough to theorize, “Cuimborn will be one of those who is less than pleased with you, I imagine.” 

Theli shook his head with another rueful smile, “An understatement, I think. He’s protective. He remembers me as the youth I was during the War of the Last Alliance, and he worries.” 

“Wise of him, perhaps.” 

With a playful glare, Theli scolded, “I worry about you, too, Thranduil.” 

“And you are not alone in that,” Thranduil said, half-fond and half-exasperated. With that, he went to open the door, to signal that further company was now welcome. 

Soon enough, Thranduil was playing cards again with his gwedyr, Fileg’s wife Calmarille, Captain Teliemir, Thalion, Rian, Mychanar, and Lothgail. 

Theli had turned down an invitation to join them, and instead was lying down on a settee on his stomach, reading what looked to be a healing tome. Thranduil found that mildly surprising. He’d never realized that Theli could be studious. 

Not long after, Legolas, his Watchful Peace age-mates, and That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli and his obnoxious cousin they entered the common room in a chattering group. The group and their merriment were clearly audible through the open sitting room door. 

Legolas, and Fileg’s younger children Brasseniel and Cenedru, came in to the room to inform their respective parents about their plans to join the prince and lady of Ithilien on a star-gazing excursion a short way up Mount Mindolluin. 

Thranduil readily agreed, as did Fileg and Calmarille. If the King hadn’t approved, he would have asked for Legolas’ assistance with something small as a way to deny the request without making it seem as if he actually disapproved of his youngest son’s plans. Somewhat to Thranduil’s relief, Thalion and Rian decided to go along as well, and Baeraeriel and Cellillien were also part of the expedition. 

“May Theli join us, Ada, if he wishes?” Legolas added, with a sympathetic and encouraging glance for their newly revealed cousin. 

Theli had greeted the new arrivals with a friendly nod, before almost immediately returning his attention to his book. Now he gave Legolas a grateful but wistful smile, then turned his attention to Thranduil without much hope, evidently remembering that part of his punishment was to ask his King for permission. 

“Ask one of the royal guards on duty in the entry way to accompany you. And then Theli may go with you, if he so desires,” Thranduil allowed. 

From Theli’s subsequent nod and taken aback smile, Thranduil gathered that was the case. The King could understand. He thought that his healer-cousin must be feeling quite confined by this point, accustomed as Theli was to going anywhere he wished when his duties did not require otherwise. 

“One of the guards?” Legolas queried in a baffled manner, “Of course, if you will it so, Ada. But there are so many warriors in our group already, including Faramir and Eowyn and their guards. And our entire route is well protected by Gondorian royal guards, as well.” 

“And, under normal circumstances, that would be sufficient,” Thranduil agreed calmly, “However, as you and your other companions may not yet be aware, Legolas-muin-nin, there has been a credible threat against our cousin Ecthelion’s safety.” 

Legolas’ laurel green eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in protective anger. His response was generally similar to that of his elder brother Thalion and their other companions. Theli himself appeared quite concerned, apparently having not considered that his own presence could put others in danger. Thranduil didn’t blame him for that. It wasn’t as if Theli was accustomed to being a target, outside of his military service. Most healers were treated with consideration and respect, even by the warriors of enemy kingdoms. 

“What threat, Ada?” Legolas asked, quiet fury as well as concern in his tone. 

Thranduil felt rather than heard Fileg’s and Calmarille’s silent commentary that Legolas appeared quite like his father, in this precise moment. 

“You’ll be briefed tomorrow, ionnath-nin,” Thranduil promised both Legolas and Thalion, “For now, it is enough that you take an additional guard. And that you all of you know to be on your guard.” 

Legolas and Thalion nodded in acceptance. 

At the same time, Theli said, “I’d rather not go, then.” 

“Theli . . .” Legolas began to remonstrate gently, albeit with some exasperation. 

“Oh, is that so, my young cousin and friend?” Thranduil asked Theli drolly, “What are you going to do, then? Remain in this apartment indefinitely, other than when you are about your duties, alone except for your guards, and putting no one else at risk by association?” 

“I . . . I hadn’t thought about it, I guess,” Theli said uncertainly. 

“Well, I have,” Thranduil chided mildly, “And my conclusion is the same as the position I’ve always taken on such matters, which Legolas and Thalion both know well. Ionnath-nin?” 

“We are elves of the Greenwood and the royal family of the Greenwood,” Legolas repeated for Theli with a kind smile, “And we do not yield to fear or threats.” 

“We do take reasonable precautions,” Thalion amended, with a fond look for both his younger brother and the dubious Theli, “But we continue to live our lives to the fullest, nonetheless.” 

“Thank you, my dear sons,” Thranduil said affectionately, before turning his attention back to Theli, “There you are then, mellon dithen nin. Go on, now. You don’t have my permission to stay here just now.” 

“Well, in that case,” Theli agreed with a wry smile, “I suppose I’ll go, then.” 

“What a good idea,” Thranduil recognized blandly, “Don’t be loud when you come back in.” 

Theli, who had apparently forgotten that he was still Thranduil’s bedfellow for the time being, paused in dismay. 

“May Theli sleep in my room tonight, Ada?” Legolas offered, “Cenedru doesn’t mind.” 

Cenedru nodded to confirm that was so. 

“And I’m sure that Televegil won’t mind either,” Legolas continued, “There’s plenty of space, and that way no one needs to worry about waking anyone else up.” 

“Very well,” Thranduil allowed, although he added silently just to Theli, *If I find that you are not back in this apartment when my sons and the others return, or that you subsequently wander elsewhere, then you will be in trouble with me. Is that clear, my young cousin. Just nod or shake your head,* Thranduil quickly added, *I have no wish to embarrass you in public.*

Theli, blushing, nodded. Then Legolas took him cheerfully by the arm and led him away, followed by Thalion and Rian and the others. Thranduil did not see any of them again for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more of Thranduil and Theli during the War of the Last Alliance, see “It’s not you, it’s me” chapter 3 of “Tales of the Greenwood” 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/365915
> 
> More of the friendship between Thranduil and his long-time healer friend and new-found cousin Theli can be found in various stories in my Desperate Hours Gen version series, available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409


	36. The Next Few Days, and the Imladris Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Theli begin to navigate through changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: I posted an old Theli story (set in the Second Age) with a Fourth Age prologue and epilogue (the latter of which is entirely new). It is available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878228/chapters/39637932
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin Fileg, friend Linwe, and General Rochendil, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories (please read all warnings). Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 3: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes chapter 36: 
> 
>  
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 35:   
> “Go on, now. You don’t have my permission to stay here just now,” [Thranduil directed blandly]. 
> 
> “Well, in that case,” Theli agreed with a wry smile, “I suppose I’ll go [on the star watching trip with Legolas], then.” 
> 
> “What a good idea,” Thranduil recognized blandly, “Don’t be loud when you come back in.” 
> 
> . . . .
> 
> Then Legolas took him cheerfully by the arm and led him away, followed by Thalion and Rian and the others. Thranduil did not see any of them again for the rest of the night.

As Thranduil had expected, Legolas, Thalion and Theli enjoyed their star viewing expedition without any whiff of danger. They were not even bothered by suspicious humans or disapproving elders, according to the amusingly snarky note Thranduil’s oh-so-respectful youngest son had kindly slid under Thranduil’s bedchamber door upon his and the others’ return the previous evening. 

The King greeted the news contained in the cheeky missive with silent relief nonetheless. He didn’t actually see Legolas or Theli until morning arms practice, but there was nothing necessarily amiss in that. 

At morning arms practice, Thranduil observed that Glorfindel was making – or at least attempting to make – an object lesson out of Elladan, Theli, Orophin, and, to a lesser extent, Melpomaen. Legolas got involved and found himself amongst the beleaguered defenders, but Thranduil had no real objections to Glorfindel’s choice of targets. If the four of them had thought it appropriate to be off doing things on their own, then they could defend themselves from the Balrog Slayer and his chosen minions alone. 

And Legolas would likely learn something from the experience, as well. Even if it was only to weigh very carefully in the future whether he wanted to take the side of someone who had incurred Glorfindel’s wrath. 

Besides, Theli, despite the fundamental diversity of his fighting style, did tend to overuse a low attack strategy. It worked well for him most of the time, since he was shorter and stronger than many of his opponents. But it also made him prone to defeat – or at least to taking a few hard blows on his practice armor– from someone who anticipated that he would use that strategy. It might as well be Glorfindel (or one of his lieutenants) who brought that flaw to Theli’s attention. 

Also, Elladan was occasionally giving Glorfindel a run for his money, which Thranduil found amusing. Everyone could benefit from a challenge. And, to Glorfindel’s credit, he seemed pleased rather than angered by his pupil’s turning the tables. For those who had the skills, desire, will, and persistence to truly master the arts of swordsmanship, Glorfindel was actually a good teacher. For anyone else, he had little patience. 

The Balrog-Slayer had almost always had patience for teaching Thranduil. To the younger Thranduil, that had been a mixed blessing. In retrospect, Thranduil was glad of it. Which made him additionally unlikely to intervene on Legolas’ behalf. Or Theli’s. 

Thranduil did intervene on Theli’s behalf during the abbreviated Greenwood royal council meetings he held later that day, and during the following days. Or rather, he allowed Legolas, Thalion, and Lothgail, among others, to whisper explanations to Theli when he looked particularly lost. The King himself also went into greater detail introducing new topics of discussion than he ordinarily would have, despite the risk of inducing occasional absent expressions on the faces of some of his other officers and advisors when he repeated details from previous sessions with which they were already well acquainted. 

Much to Thranduil’s surprise, Theli made a key contribution to the great-potato-offense mystery. The King himself, and those others of his advisors present in Minas Tirith, had not recalled why it might be that the settlements to the north and east of the Greenwood would be offended rather than relieved by an offer of excess potatoes grown in the south of the Greenwood to supplement their poor harvest of the previous year. 

“Um, the last time that those villages had to rely on the Crown for food due to a poor harvest,” Theli reminded them, “it was a very wet year. They were sent potatoes, along with beans, acorns, and wheat, anything that was stored in the King’s Hall from prior years’ excess harvests. But the bags of potatoes they were sent contained a few tubers which had been contaminated by a fungus. The bags were transported in the rain, and the season continued to be wet. The fungus spread to practically all of the potatoes, but it was only visible in about one out of every ten.” 

“Good catch, Ecthelion,” Thranduil praised, now remembering with a sharp pang of sorrow the dozen elves who had actually died from the contaminated food. More might have lost their lives, if Thranduil and his council had not sent healers to tend to them, and more food to replace that which had been contaminated. Among the healers Thranduil had sent had been some of his own royal healers, including Theli. 

“It was a memorable season,” Theli demurred, with a frown at the thought of the whole avoidable tragedy. 

Thranduil again voiced his thanks for that valuable recollection in private later that day, only to have Theli once again wave it off. 

“It was a healer issue, and a food issue, and a logistics issue,” Theli said bewilderedly, “Why wouldn’t I remember it? Those are the types of things I remember!” 

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Thranduil replied mildly. He’d ask Lothgail to make a note of it, at least. That is, if she hadn’t already. She was good at keeping track of that kind of thing. Thalion had become increasingly good at it, as well. Thranduil missed his oldest son’s quiet and capable presence on his own council in the Greenwood. But he was glad nonetheless that he was able to spare such a wise and experienced advisor to aid Legolas and the elves of his youngest son’s the Ithilien-en-Edhil colony. 

The next several days and nights passed mostly peacefully. And the qualification of ‘mostly’ was mainly due to Thranduil’s having learned a distinct downside of sharing a bedchamber with a healer. It seemed like every other night there would be a quiet knock on the door, causing Theli to jump out of bed, get dressed quickly in the dark, and dash out to the House of Healing. 

After the first such occasion, Theli remembered to take a guard with him. And Thranduil (and Linwe) quickly learned to ignore the quiet taps on the door. After all, anyone who truly needed to wake a King did so loudly, which Thranduil had pointed out to Theli when his healer-cousin had asked for Thranduil’s permission to return to his own bedchamber in the House of Healing. 

“This would be the room which that strange Man Caelion broke into, without anyone noticing?” Thranduil inquired with deceptive blandness, “the same darkened chamber in which he quietly awaited your return, whilst armed with a sedative-smeared knife?” 

“Yes, the same bedchamber, but now that I know to be watching out for Caelion that won’t happen again,” Theli entreated, before adding, “Please, Thranduil? I don’t want to be underfoot here.” 

“And you want some of your privacy and solitude back,” Thranduil guessed, his tone now laced with sympathy. 

Theli nodded with a shy smile, “Yes, and that.” 

“I’m sorry, Theli,” Thranduil rejected as mildly as he could, “but for the near future, I want to keep you close. And the House of Healing will not be an option for you, in respect of lodgings, unless you have a guard keeping you company at all times.” 

“That would be a waste of anyone’s time,” Theli complained, clearly frustrated. 

“It is not a waste of time to ensure your safety,” Thranduil countered calmly, “Although, since you seem to feel our personnel resources are better used elsewhere, I am sure that you will be happy to continue to keep me company.” 

Theli sighed, “I’m not going to win this one, am I?” he asked philosophically. 

“No, you’re not,” Thranduil agreed, pleased that Theli’s frustration hadn’t turned into temper. The King was also pleased not to have to argue the issue further. The truth was, Thranduil was not entirely certain even himself why it was that he found himself wanting to keep such close track of Theli, even at night. But enough of Thranduil’s strong impulses had been proven to have merit over his lifetime that he was not willing to disregard this one. Not even to the extent of suggesting that Theli inquire into staying with Aragorn’s or Faramir’s families for a time. They had empty bedchambers aplenty, one of which Theli had stayed in multiple times in order to be close at hand when one of the royal children (usually little Mithiriel) was ill. 

“And you’ll tell me if you want me to go somewhere else for a while, Thranduil?” Theli persisted. 

“Without qualm. For instance, tonight, specifically during dinner, I want you to find something else to do with yourself for several hours.” Thranduil had plans to eat with only his sons, Rian, and Calenwen. 

“Easy enough,” Theli allowed, appearing relieved that Thranduil really would tell him if he was in the way, “Belegur and Colleryn asked me over for dinner.” 

“Don’t they customarily sup with cousin Celeborn and his family, when they are not required elsewhere?” Thranduil wondered. He’d noticed that Theli was still trying to avoid Celeborn whenever possible. 

“Yes, but if I let Belegur know that I may be running late, and that I want to be on the opposite side of the table from Lord Celeborn, I shouldn’t end up in a position where I have to talk with him a lot.” 

“Good luck with that.” 

Thranduil later learned, much to his amusement, that Celeborn had figured out who the empty chair was intended for before Theli even arrived. The clever Lord of East Lorien had arranged for his newly-found nephew to sit beside him during the dinner. 

“I still got to talk to Belegur and Colleryn, though,” Theli explained, “Haldir and Silwen – well, more likely just Silwen – decided that they would switch places with Belegur and Colleryn so that I could be near them as well as Lord . . . er, I mean, Uncle, Celeborn.” 

“I see,” said Thranduil, doing a poor job of hiding how funny he thought the whole thing was. 

Theli cast his sovereign and elder cousin a mildly aggrieved glance, then confessed, “He was very kind. Lord . . . er, Uncle, Celeborn, I mean. He asked a lot of questions about what we’ve been doing in the Ithilien-en-Edhil. And he only scolded me twice during the whole dinner, and even then he did it subtly enough that I don’t think everyone else noticed it. He didn’t even make one of those mild but cutting comments that he usually likes to make when someone is late to dinner. Or, you know,” Theli added with a wry smile, “late to anything.” 

“Good,” Thranduil counseled kindly, “I think that you will find that cousin Celeborn is in complete earnest about wanting to spend more time with you, Theli. You might consider giving him that opportunity. I do not think that he will waste it.” At least not a third time. 

“Mmm,” Theli replied pensively. 

“Think it over, Pest,” Thranduil encouraged. 

“I will,” Theli promised. 

During the following few days, Thranduil found that he generally enjoyed spending more time with Theli. He’d always known that the younger elf was good company. Theli’s personality was fundamentally sunny, but despite that, he had a great sensitivity to the moods of others. He also had an unusual way of looking at the world, which often resulted in his making unintentionally humorous observations – or even intentionally humorous ones. 

At Thranduil’s insistence, Theli added several Greenwood council meetings to his normal schedule of teaching classes, going on rounds at the House of Healing, and discharging his duties related to Ithilien-en-Edhil for Legolas and Thalion. Thranduil also added Theli to the delegation of his elves who were involved in debating the final tariff levels to be imposed on imports and exports in the newly revised treaty between the Greenwood and the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. 

“I already did my part in that,” Theli objected half-heartedly, “I came up with the initial lists of healing herbs and materials which each of our kingdoms have in abundance, or in relative scarcity.” 

“And now you can help see that process to its conclusion,” Thranduil ordered absently while he looked over his own correspondence, “try to think of it as making fair trades. You do that quite well, as I recall.” 

The King looked up to see Theli nod resignedly. 

“And change clothes before you go,” Thranduil added, and then had to hide a smile as Theli cheerfully said several very rude things about his King’s preoccupation with proper appearance. 

Provided that Theli was reminded to dress appropriately at least once a day, he seemed to be managing that feat well enough. At least at all the meetings and formal meals which Thranduil had asked him to attend. 

Theli hadn’t objected to the armed companions who now accompanied him as he taught his classes, and went with him on his rounds in Gondor’s House of Healing. Or at least, Captain Teliemir hadn’t passed along any such complaints to Thranduil. The King was at least confident that he and Teliemir (with Linwe’s and Lieutenant Naruan’s assistance) had come up with a good list of guards for Theli. Specifically, a list of guards who were all personally fond of Theli, yet who would also have no qualms about overruling the healer if a situation turned dangerous.


	37. Rethinking the Present and Revisiting the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking an elder kinsman’s interest in Theli’s welfare reminds Thranduil of his children, including the ones who are no longer with him. And of his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s wife Minaethiel, cousin Fileg, and friends Linwe and Veassen, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories (please read all warnings). Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes chapter 37: 
> 
> “Ring the bells that still can ring   
> Forget your perfect offering   
> There is a crack in everything   
> That's how the light gets in.” - Leonard Cohen 
> 
>  
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign

One night, after Theli had had another nightmare, Thranduil found himself thinking not only of his living sons, but of his lost children as well. Theli had fallen back asleep, but Thranduil could not. 

He found himself pacing in his sitting room, with Linwe bearing him quiet company. His older blood-brother was just patiently waiting for Thranduil to speak of whatever was on his mind. 

Not so much Fileg, when he and his wife joined them after seeing the light under the door when they came back into the common room after their dinner with the Imladrin guard Endaqueto, who was an elflinghood friend of Fileg’s wife Calmarille. 

“What in Eru’s name is wrong with you, gwador-laes?” Fileg demanded, although he did so in a kind tone of voice. 

“I can’t . . .” Thrandui couldn’t really put everything he was feeling into words, but for his friends, he tried, “It’s . . . all of this with Theli . . . it’s reminding me of Minaethiel. And our children. All of our children, each in their different ways.” 

“Thranduil . . .” began Fileg with infinite tenderness. 

Linwe didn’t speak. He just left his chair to come and wrap his arms around Thranduil. The King could feel Fileg’s arms wrap around him from the other side, the bodies of his gwedyr becoming a warm, living barrier to separate him from the howling cold winds whipping around the wounded crevices of his heart. 

Through the storm of pain and the few tears that escaped and fell onto his cheeks, Thranduil heard the sound of Calmarille’s skirts ‘shhing’ softly as she slipped quietly toward the door. 

“No, Calmarille,” Thranduil requested as his chest ached with the pain and grief of the losses he’d never come close to fully processing, “You can stay.” 

The three-way hug turned into a four-way hug. And it was progress. 

When Thranduil had lost his wife Minaethiel, three of his children, and his blood-brother, he hadn’t just lost his children, Minaethiel and Veassen. He’d also lost Calmarille, and Veassen’s wife too. They had still been there, but they had reminded Thranduil too much of his – their – losses. 

During Thranduil’s elflinghood and youth, it hadn’t just been him and his three gwedyr. Often, it had been the four of them, plus Minaethiel. Or Aiwen, as she had then been called. Thranduil most often thought of her as Minaethiel, but she had been born Aiwen. ‘Minaethiel’ was her reign-name, a gift that Thranduil had given her, as once Celeborn had given Artanis the name “Galadriel.” But, long before Thranduil realized that he had fallen in love with Aiwen, she had already been one of his best friends. She was Fileg’s twin sister, and she had always been funny, brave, strong, and kind. The five of them had shared many adventures - Aiwen and Fileg, Thranduil, Linwe, and Veassen. 

Then, during one particular memorable visit to Imladris (complicated by a detour to Eryn Vorn during which Thranduil and Veassen had been kidnapped by pirates), the four gwedyr plus Minaethiel had become the four, plus Minaethiel and Calmarille both. Then, ever after during their visits to Imladris, or during Calmarille’s rarer visits to the Greenwood, it had been the four of them, plus Minaethiel and Calmarille. And that was long before Calmarille and Fileg had become romantically involved. 

Since he had lost Minaethiel and his children, Thranduil had found it too painful to spend time with Calmarille, at least when it was only her in intimate company with him and his remaining gwedyr. Calmarille in their small company had only made the King miss Minaethiel all the more fiercely. He had been fine when any or all of their elflings were in the room too, but not without the children. Not with just the four of them alone, when once they had been six. 

In the last few days, the King had found himself extending his family to include Theli. Thranduil hadn’t realized it, but the process of re-thinking what Theli meant to him (and to his sons) had somehow started Thranduil on re-thinking other relationships. Unnoticed, in the back of the King’s mind, he had been re-thinking losses, re-thinking the present, and the past. As well as re-thinking what it meant to be a father and a friend. Even though he hadn’t realized it until just now, Thranduil had been remembering feeling things, worrying about things, that he hadn’t felt or worried about since all of his children and their mother were still with him. 

In this moment, wrapped comfortingly in not only Linwe’s and Fileg’s arms but also in Calmarille’s, Thranduil realized that maybe it was time for him to try harder to move past the deaths of his wife, children, cousins, and one of his best friends. It would never be time to forget those losses. A time would never come when Thranduil ceased anticipating their reunions someday in the West with a joy so profound that it was almost beyond speech or even thought. But it may be time to again allow himself the friendship of one of his friends who had also been one of his wife’s best friends. 

Thranduil pulled away, his three friends still consoling him by their presence. 

“This . . .” the King began again with difficulty, “all of this, with Theli. It’s reminding me of when Thalion was an elfling, and we were first making the adjustments needed to make him part of our family. And then . . . Thalion’s grandmother was abusive, but Thalion had trouble seeing that for a very long time. Theli’s grandfather was abusive, perhaps not on purpose, but he was. Theli still doesn’t recognize that. And I’m also reminded of Thandrin, when Thalion and Theli helped him through the trouble that he found just after he joined the army. And of Lithidhren, because Lithidhren always had so much trouble trusting that he was ‘good enough.’ It was something we never fully got through with him . . . and then it was too late.” 

No one said anything, because nothing they could have said would have been right, or enough, or not too much. There was nothing right to say, Thranduil thought to himself as he fought tears again. 

Yes, Thranduil may see Lithidhren and Minaethiel and Thandrin and Eyrntheliel and all the others again in the West. But that would involve SAILING to the West, which Thranduil wasn’t ready to think about yet. And even meeting them again in the future wouldn’t help Lithidhren-as-he-had-been-then, when he was slain before even reaching a yen of age. Thranduil would never be able to help that Lithidhren again. It was too late, that time would never come again. 

Even when and if they met again in the West, they would not be the same elves whom they had been when Lithidhren died. Never the same to one another, never a father and his 110 year old son again. Thranduil would never have the chance to prove to that Lithidhren, to 110 year old Lithidhren, that he was a wonderful elf and a wonderful son, just as he was. And that Thranduil had been proud to have a scholar as a son, even though the King was not a scholar at heart himself. And also that he had been proud of Lithidhren for working so hard at improving his martial skills, something which had not come easily to the young ellon. And perhaps most importantly that, whether or not Lithidhren ever realized his ambition of becoming a soldier because he thought it to be his duty as a King’s son to be one, Thranduil would always have been proud of him for doing what he thought was right to the best of his ability. 

Fileg’s arms and Linwe’s held Thranduil close again. For a time the King felt Calmarille’s arm encircle him too, smaller than those of his gwedyr but still very strong. Then he felt her leave and heard her go across the room. Not to the door, but to the sideboard. 

Dismissing whatever Calmarille was doing as unthreatening and unimportant, Thranduil admitted to himself, for the first time, his new fears about Theli. What if Theli died before Thranduil had helped him to realize how important he was, as a friend and cousin? Important to Thranduil’s family, important to his friends, and important to Thranduil, too, even though the King found it hard to put that last part into words. 

What if Theli died, before he realized these things, as he could so easily have died in the South? He would most likely have died in Khand, but for Elladan’s and Adrahil’s bold and daring rescue. He could easily have been killed last week by the man Caelion, if Fileg hadn’t been there that night. 

Thranduil would have to make sure that Theli learned to defend himself even better. The King admitted to himself, now, that part of why he was letting Glorfindel have free rein with his new cousin on the practice courts was to help Theli improve his own defensive skills as quickly as possible. But Thranduil wasn’t ready to say any of that out aloud, yet. 

Then Calmarille returned, and knelt before Thranduil and his gwedyr. She held a basin of water in one hand, and small towels in the other. 

Thranduil was both grateful for the distraction and amused by Calmarille’s characteristic practicality. He accepted the proffered damp cloth with a watery chuckle, and commented as he dabbed away the tears on his face, “You are ever the problem-solver, Calma.” 

“Someone has to be,” she teased back, her dark eyes full of affection and relief. 

“After all,” Thranduil bantered back in falsetto, quite accurately mimicking a much younger Calmarille’s exasperated alto as he repeated one of the first things he could remember her ever saying to him and his gwedyr (and to Minaethiel), “I am the practical one!” 

Fileg and even Linwe had joined him in unison by the end of that shared joke, following Thranduil’s lead seamlessly as they realized that it was acceptable to speak of that part of their shared past again. 

Calmarille laughed again, blushing now, as she protested, “Well, again, someone had to be! I couldn’t just watch the four of you, and Endaqueto and his friends, and poor Minaethiel all trying and failing to rig up a pressurized water and ice system in order to make it snow inside Captain Glorfindel’s favorite indoor practice hall! It was too painful. I had to get involved.” 

“And at the risk of incurring Glorfindel’s wrath, at that!” Thranduil admired now, just as he had back then. 

“Well, Mina was already involved, and she was my sparring partner,” Calmarille pointed out with a rueful smile, “Without her I’d have been stuck sparring with one of the ellith who were serious about becoming warriors themselves, in which case I’d have been beaten into the ground. Or I’d have ended up partnered with one of the fluffheaded marriage-bait minded young ellith, in which case I’d have been tempted to beat her into the ground!” 

“True. Although I don’t believe that you and Mina ever got into any real trouble over making it snow indoors during arms practice. Besides Glorfindel’s blistering lecture, that is!” 

“It was blistering,” Calmarille recalled, “In fact, I’ve never been able to see a slick floor as innocuous again! But do you remember that infinitesimal twitch at the left side of Captain Glorfindel’s lips as he spoke of the evils of unnecessary slip and fall injuries? That was the equivalent of breathless laughter in anyone else! Which I wish I’d known at the time!” 

“I, as well,” Thranduil admitted, with a genuine smile. 

“I, on the other hand, was perfectly dignified and sanguine,” Fileg jested, “After all, I knew that even Glorfindel wouldn’t have killed any of us in such a public place.” 

“That is now how I remember your demeanor on that particular morning, gwador dithen,” Linwe remarked, with a small but real smile of his own. 

“Me, either,” Thranduil seconded with a soft smile, “And what was it that you said at the time, Calma? Almost, but not quite, too softly to be heard by the angry Balrog-Slayer who had us all bearded in his lair?” 

Calmarille’s usually serious face broke into another smile, “I said that, even if Captain Glorfindel did kill us, there was an excellent healer on hand, in the person of Lord Elrond. And that Lord Elrond always complained when Captain Glorfindel gave him more work to do without good reason!” 

“At which point,” Fileg recalled with a wince, “The great golden grump said that Lord Elrond wouldn’t mind in this case, because he did have good reason! I’m not sure that you helped us there, oh practical one! And then he dismissed you and my lucky sister to go report your wrong-doing to the tender-hearted and easily amused Celebrian!” Fileg finished with a scoff. 

“She did lecture us, because getting the floor wet while elves were sparring had constituted creating a hazard. That is, once she had finished laughing,” Calmarille shared with a shake of her head, “But her heart wasn’t really in it. Still, we ended up far worse off in the end than you lot did, Mina and I.” 

“I most sincerely doubt that,” said Thranduil wryly. If it hadn’t been for Thranduil’s determination to sit through dinner despite having spent most of the day scrubbing dirt and rust-encrusted armor with the other ellyn at Glorfindel’s impatient direction, then at least Fileg and Veassen likely would have accepted Elrond’s fondly exasperated offer to have trays sent to their rooms. 

“No, truly,” Calmarille countered with a rueful expression, “Celebrian invited Mina and I to tea, after. So we joined her and Lady Elain, Lady Taminixe, and my mother, Lady Ambaraxiel, in Celebrian’s solar. During what was mostly a pleasant afternoon strategy session, Master Artist Samnolas barged in, completely without notice or introduction.” 

“That cloud-head?” Fileg inquired in surprise, “Mina came to feel he might just be the most annoying elf on Middle Earth.” 

“Not the most annoying,” Thranduil corrected with a bittersweet half-smile, “She said he might be one of the top fifteen most annoying.” To Calmarille, Thranduil asked, “What did the cloud-head want?” 

“To fulfill his ‘grand artistic vision,’” Calmarille explained, with all of an engineer’s fine disdain for an artist. Well, that was not entirely fair. Calmarille appreciated and respected fine art, normally, including many of Master Samnolas’ portraits and sculptures. The King wondered what made her so acerbic about this particular ‘grand artistic vision.’ 

“Which one?” Linwe inquired laconically. 

“Why, his rather insipid collection of ‘West meets East’ portraits and sculptures,” Calmarille said in surprise, “Don’t you remember those?” 

Thranduil almost choked with laughter. Once he had caught his breath, he gasped, “You mean all twelve portraits and twelve sculptures of you and Mina dressed up as a stereotypical First Age Noldorin and Sindarin maiden, respectively? With the two of you holding hands, kissing in friendship, and crossing bridges together hand-in-hand, and other equally cloying depictions? Oh, how Mina despised them!” 

“Oh, yes, those portraits,” Calmarille confirmed, with a rueful shake of her head, “Even as Master Samnolas came running into Lady Elain’s parlor, all of Celebrian, Taminixe, Elain, and even my mother began to look like foxes fleeing the hounds! Oh, they hid it well, especially my mother and Lady Elain, but all of them desperately wished to be elsewhere! Or invisible. Then Samnolas fell to his knees on the floor, begging Lady Celebrian and Lady Taminixe to please be his models so that his current Grand Artistic Vision would no longer languish unfulfilled. He assured them that, as soon as he completed it, it would be a triumph for historical re-interpretation and unity between the elven kingdoms.” 

“What did Celebrian say?” Thranduil asked, suppressing another laugh at the thought of his beloved and vivacious silver-haired cousin dealing with a prostrate and desperate master artist. 

“She said that she and Taminixe were too busy,” Calmarille answered, her carnelian brown eyes twinkling, “Which was likely true. With Lord Arandil missing, Lord Elrond’s household was in some disarray. At Celebrian’s refusal, Master Samnolas put a hand on his heart as if it was failing him, and then almost immediately rallied to beg Lady Elain and my mother to be his models!” 

“Whatever you say of that ellon, you can’t say that he lacks faith in his own ‘grand artistic vision!’” Fileg admired, in between chuckles, “What happened next?” 

“Lady Celebrian threw Minaethiel and I to that rampaging wolf of an artist, what else?” Calmarille asked with another rueful smile and a toss of her long waving ebony locks, “She told Samnolas that since we had enough time on our hands to help our friends with a ‘very elegantly executed prank,’ then we must have more than enough time to serve as models for his portraits and sculptures!”

Then Calmarille shook her head again and confessed, “I went so far as to ask my mother whether she still wanted my help with a project, one which I had just made up on the very spot. I even told her that Mina could help with the stringing together of the gears. I assured her that we wouldn’t have time for both the modeling and all the work on that project. It was the fastest project pitch I’d ever come up with, at that point in my life.” 

“And Amme Ambaraxiel didn’t take pity on you?” Fileg asked his wife, his tone torn between mirth and tenderness. 

“No,” Calmarille answered, “She did, however, tell me that it was a very good idea, but that it could wait until next year. Which it did. We completed the project during your next visit, actually, and Mina did help with the gears. What she knew about stringing and wiring together puppets, dolls, and toy soldiers came in quite useful. Much to my mother’s surprise. Amme doesn’t think much of such ‘traditionally feminine’ pursuits, as much as she tries not to let that on.” 

“I know,” Thranduil said, bittersweet but treasured memories leading him to add, “Mina played on that. When she had tired of hosting your mother, Calma, she would start asking Ambaraxiel’s opinion on what dress she should wear to the next formal dance.”

“Wise of her,” Calma agreed with a softly reminiscent smile, “Unfortunately that tactic never worked for me.” 

“You’re just too susceptible to being distracted by the next idea for improving wind mills, cannons, winches, or draw bridges,” Fileg told his wife, his azure eyes shining with his love for her despite his jesting tone. 

“I am, at that,” his wife agreed with an unapologetic smile, “But neither Mina or I were able to talk Samnolas out of continuing with his full gamut of awful, sickeningly sweet paintings and sculptures. The best that we could do was talk him out of posing us with kittens in our laps, and let us play with the baby mongooses instead.” 

“I rather liked that painting, actually,” Thranduil confessed, “The one where Mina was holding Paladin and letting him play with her hair ribbon.” 

Glorfindel’s son Arandil had given the baby mongoose to Thranduil. Before the prince had accepted it, he’d had to find someone to agree to take care of it in the palace at Amon Lanc while he was away with his patrol. He’d asked Mina first, and she had agreed. 

Caring for and entertaining Paladin had given them something else to share. In a way, Paladin had been their first child. Not that a mongoose could really be compared to a child, but still. Even his name had been a joint decision. 

“I can’t decide what he should be called,” Thranduil had confessed to Aiwen as the two tossed a fabric ball back and forth between them for his new mongoose to chase. 

“I can understand that,” Aiwen said with a sympathetic smile, “This little fellow is too bold for a silly name, and too silly for a bold name.” 

“Yes,” Thranduil said with a smile, glad that someone understood, “Veassen suggested ‘Serpent Slayer,’ which, of course, he shall be someday, like his parents. But it still seems too serious . . .” 

“And Fileg suggested ‘Trouble,’ after your fine mongoose here chewed through your mother’s travel bag and got himself all tangled up in skeins of colorful embroidery thread,” Aiwen recalled with a mischievous grin. 

“Fileg also suggested, ‘Thranduil,’” the crown prince complained, half put-upon and half-admiring of his gwador’s nerve and unfailingly outrageous sense of humor. 

“Right,” Aiwen said, nodding wisely but with an impish sparkle to her eyes, “as a synonym for ‘Trouble.’” 

“Thank you for thumping him for me, by the way,” Thranduil said. 

She smiled back at him, pausing with the ball in her hands for long enough for the little mongoose to pounce on it enthusiastically. 

“What about ‘Warrior,’” she asked, “It’s not so serious and pretentious a name as ‘Serpent-Slayer,’ but he certainly does have a fighting spirit.” 

“Just like his father and mother,” Thrandui agreed, “I like the idea of “Knight,” actually, but his father is already named, “Knight Errant,” even though he’s only called ‘Errant,’ most of the time. And naming him after a sweet-smelling flower like his mother Jasmine wouldn’t fit him.” 

“Hmm, what about ‘Paladin?’” Aiwen had asked, “Like one of the priest-knights of old Numenor?” 

“Hmm, maybe,” Thranduil said thoughtfully as he twitched a long stalk of grass to distract the baby mongoose, “except that this Paladin’s holy calling is the destruction of everything snake-ey.” 

Then the crown prince had looked up, his silvered sapphire eyes meeting Aiwen’s azure orbs as he announced, “‘Paladin’ it is.’” 

Minaethiel had been the one to make sure that all of the palace mongooses, the many descendants of Paladin and Paladin’s mate, Mimosa (and of the four mongoose friends Lord Arandil and Lady Elain had sent along to keep them company) had been gathered up and brought along when they’d been forced to move their capital north and east from Amon Lanc to Emyn Duir. And she had made sure that they were not forgotten in the move north and east from Emyn Duir to the North Hall, and then back again during the Watchful Peace. 

Even today in the Fourth Age, there was still a community of mongooses resident in the North Hall. They more than paid for their keep by preying upon the inevitable snakes and lizards who were attracted to a warm stone home. The cats didn’t care for the taste of snake or lizard very much, so the mongooses and the cats had pretty much worked out an arrangement that seemed to suit them both. Thranduil was fond of the mongooses, but he hadn’t taken one as a companion since Minaethiel’s and his children’s deaths. Maybe Theli would like a mongoose, he pondered. 

“Sitting for that painting was the most tolerable of any of the other ones from Master Samnolas’ grand ‘West Meets East’ artistic vision,” Calmarille shared, “Because it was fun to spend time with the playful little mongooses. And even more fun to get to leave the modeling session early because Paladin got blue and gold paint all over himself and then ruined Samnolas’ first draft. And also Mina’s dress.” 

“Master Samnolas didn’t hurt Paladin, did he?” Thranduil asked in concern. 

“No, Thrani, he didn’t,” Calamarille assured her King with an amused smile, “In fact, Master Samnolas credited Paladin as a co-painter on that particular portrait, because apparently Paladin ruining his first version of the portrait made Samnolas realize that gold wasn’t appropriate for the color scheme, and that he wanted the light coming from a different direction, so he considered Paladin as having ‘saved’ that particular installment of his ‘grand artistic vision.’” 

“I think that I might like to buy that painting,” Thranduil mused. 

Fileg and Calmarille both winced. 

“Tell me,” Thranduil instructed with a sigh. 

“Ah, Galadriel left it for you when she sailed, gwador-laes,” Fileg explained sheepishly, “that painting. She said to wait until you asked for it.” 

It was impressive that Galadriel could ruin a moment for Thranduil, even from the West. He tried hard not to find the whole thing funny, then gave it up as a bad job, and remarked, “Well, at least it wasn’t the ‘Armed Beauties’ painting. I found that one disturbing.”

“Which one was that?” Linwe asked, as if he would protect Thranduil even from a portrait. Thranduil loved Linwe for many reasons, and not least for this one. 

“You don’t remember it?” Fileg exclaimed in surprise, then began describing the painting – and how much their friend (and his twin sister) had hated posing for it - to Linwe. 

Thranduil didn’t need the reminder. He could remember all too well the wave of protectiveness he’d felt when he heard Aiwen gasp in pain from the direction of the armorsmith’s forge, as well as the vague feeling of surprise at the strength of the urge he felt to protect her. She was his friend, yes, and his distant cousin, too, as was Fileg. 

But just Aiwen being his friend and cousin didn’t explain why he could recognize her mild gasp of pain when no one else had even heard it. Or why it would fill him with a feeling almost akin to panic, rather than a more reasonable mild concern. 

He and his gwedyr had been nearby, on their way to collect Veassen’s new plate armor. 

“Aiwen!” Thranduil had exclaimed urgently, before running off in the direction of the armorsmiths’ forge he thought that her gasp had come from. 

“What about her?” Fileg had asked. He had taken off at almost the same time as Thranduil, his own brotherly instincts stirred by Thranduil’s tone. Linwe and Veassen had followed not far behind. 

Thranduil was the fastest runner amongst the four of them, so he’d dashed into the armorsmith’s forge first, panting from how quickly he’d raced to get there. 

Aiwen was there, but she did not seem to be hurt. Her azure blue eyes stared down at Thranduil in surprise from where she stood on the raised platform warriors were directed to stand upon so that the armorers and smiths could examine the fit of their armor. 

A tall, dark-haired Imladrin armorer had been adjusting the straps of the gilded plate armor Aiwen now wore. Something she’d never worn before, so far as Thranduil knew. 

Aiwen was more than competent with a sword and bow, but she wasn’t a warrior at her heart. She’d never owned anything more than a set of chain mail. And one thin enough to wear under her riding skirts as she joined Thranduil’s mother on excursions which were not expected to turn dangerous, but might do so nonetheless. 

“Thranduil?” Aiwen’s startled soprano inquired, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just had a shock.” 

“You should sit down, Thranduil,” Calmarille’s deeper, almost furry sounding alto voice commanded, as she got up from the sole chair in the corner of the room and waved for him to take her place. Calmarille had, indeed, always been the practical one. 

“No, I’m fine,” Thranduil stammered, relaxing as he saw that Aiwen was – at least mostly – fine. “What happened to you, ‘Wen? I thought that you had been hurt.” 

“Not too badly, I hope,” muttered the Imladrin armorer apologetically to Aiwen, “I haven’t had to fit a set of our female plate armor to someone as slender as you, Lady Aiwen, in quite some time. I’m having some trouble getting the buckles tight enough.” 

“I understand, Smith Hanaconer,” Aiwen said politely but with an undertone of irritation that told Thranduil that this armorer had not been gentle or respectful enough to his friend. He favored the elf with a fulminating look, and made a note to bring up the armorer’s carelessness in front of cousin Elrond at his next opportunity. Well, the next opportunity when Aiwen wasn’t present. It wouldn’t do to have her know that he was looking out for her, after all. She had too much pride for that, and besides . . . there was another reason that Thranduil didn’t want to look at too closely. So he didn’t. 

“What are you doing wearing full plate armor, Aiwen?” Fileg asked his twin breathlessly from the door. 

Aiwen rolled her eyes and used one lithe hand to brush a lock of wheaten blond hair further away from her eyes. 

“Please continue to stand still, your ladyship,” the beleaguered armorer protested before Aiwen could answer, “the buckles will pinch if you’re moving while I’m adjusting them.” 

“Besides,” Calmarille inserted in a frustrated tone, “not moving will be excellent practice for the hours of ‘not moving’ that we’re about to do while Master Samnolas alternately orders us about and praises us while commanding us ‘not to move, young lady, or I’ll lose the light!’”

Fileg’s gaze had been captured by Calmarille, who was wearing a rather revealing costume. She was dressed as Thranduil had sometimes seen his cousins Aiwen and Celebrian dressed, when they went out hunting or riding in leggings and tunic. Only Calmarille’s clothes were finer even then what Thranduil’s female cousins would wear, and the leather tunic she wore over her velvet tunic and leggings was inset with jewels. She wore her ebony hair in warrior’s braids, twinkling from many small jeweled beads. Calmarille wasn’t a warrior, and Thranduil had never seen her in warrior’s braids. 

It was then that Linwe and then Veassen arrived. Linwe took in the scene and asked, “What’s going on?” 

Aiwen huffed and almost visibly resisted the urge to stamp her foot, then explained, “Calmarille and I are yet again made victims of Master Samnolas’ latest ‘wonderful idea’ to add to his current ‘grand artistic vision.’” 

“But I thought that he had you cast as a typical Sindarin noble maiden of Great-Uncle Elu Thingol’s court, for his paintings,” Thranduil inquired, making no attempt to hide his confusion, “One thing that my father’s stories about my grandmother Neldiel made quite clear was that noble ladies of Doriath did not wear armor.” 

“No matter how pretty that armor is,” Veassen added, as if to soften Thranduil’s remarks in the unlikely case that Aiwen took them to be offensive. 

Which she hadn’t. She was deeply irritated, however, although quite clearly with Master Artist Samnolas, rather than with her four male friends. If she’d been a cat, her tail would have been twitching with agitation. Her fingertips under her wrist grieves wiggled as she took a deep, calming breath. 

“Lady Aiwen, please stop shifting,” the armorer beseeched her, as he continued to examine the fit of the silver-and-gold plate over Aiwen’s left knee. 

“Aiwen is supposed to be Galadriel,” Calmarille explained for both of them, while politely ignoring the way that Fileg was staring at her revealing outfit. He did stop, but not until after Linwe elbowed him and Veassen said something too soft to hear which Thranduil assumed must have been a chide about acting like a gentleman. 

“Galadriel?” Thranduil repeated, staring at Aiwen in horror, “She’s nothing like Galadriel!” 

“You’re lucky that I know you so well, Thranduil,” Aiwen said cheerily, after having first suppressed a giggle that had the armorer scolding her for shifting again, “Otherwise I’d think that you meant that I’m not beautiful, stately, powerful, and capable, like Lady Galadriel.” 

“Well, of course you’re those things, or most of them, but you’re not . . .” Thranduil began, then broke off when he remembered that they had Smith Hanaconer the careless armorer as an audience.

“You’re not other things that she is,” Thranduil finished lamely. 

“Right,” Aiwen agreed, with a grin, “I know what you meant. And thanks for the laugh. I needed it.” 

After that her fair facial features fell back into a frown, as she explained, “Master Samnolas has now decided that his full series of ‘West Meets East’ depictions of a Sindarin maiden – me - meeting and immediately falling into a deep friendship with a Noldorin maiden – Calmarille – would be incomplete without including the most famous exemplars of each type.” 

“So, Galadriel and Luthien?” Veassen had guessed sympathetically, “Although that would mean reversing your roles, I suppose, for this one.” 

“It does,” Calmarille had agreed, clearly just as disgusted with Master Samnolas as Aiwen was as she continued, “Now Aiwen is supposed to be Galadriel, in full shining armor, and I’m supposed to be Luthien, dressed as a huntress.” 

“You look very . . . fierce, Calma,” Fileg managed admiringly, “As a huntress, I mean.” 

“Thank you, Fileg. Really, I’m the lucky one,” Calmarille replied, continuing to be courteously friendly as she charitably overlooked Fileg’s unfortunately one-sided infatuation with her, “This hunter’s costume is a little uncomfortable, but mostly only the ridiculous jewel-encrusted leather tunic. Poor Aiwen has to wear what looks like thirty-two pounds of plate armor!” 

Smith Hanaconer the armorer looked up at Calmarille in surprise, “It weighs exactly thirty-two pounds even, Calmarille. How did you guess?” 

Calmarille shook her head, “Well, I handed you the chest plate. Based on its weight, if I extrapolated that to the back plate and the other plates, and based those extrapolations on the normal ratio of thickness of alloy steel we use for armor, then you get . . .” 

“A long, rather boring way to say that she wasn’t guessing,” Aiwen had teased her new friend, “Calmarille is just that clever with numbers.” 

Calmarille blushed prettily and demurred, “Numbers I’m good with, yes, but these days I wish that I had your gift for managing Master Samnolas! I’d already asked him for a water break three times yesterday with no luck, before you just casually mentioned that skin takes on a different hue when it gets dehydrated! He couldn’t have directed us to the water pitcher fast enough! Save, of course to remind us . . . ” 

“Don’t muss your gowns!” The two ellith mimicked in chorus, “They need to fall perfectly! You are the incarnation of an ethereal ideal, young ladies! An ideal!” 

Thranduil frowned, “It sounds like he’s being a tyrant.” 

“We can talk to Lord Elrond about how he’s acting, if you want,” Fileg offered, seeming just as displeased with Master Samnolas as Thranduil felt. 

All six elves in the room, including the armorer, looked to Fileg in surprise. 

The young ellon had, several months ago, been the author of a prank in the course of which a small terrier belonging to Calmarille’s mother had been dyed purple. The dog had been fine – Thranduil and Fileg would never have used a dye which was harmful to animals – but it had gone running into Lord Elrond’s Healing House while still in its unnaturally colorful state. While there, it had given quite a shock to several patients present in the house as a rest-cure for their nerves. Lord Elrond had not been pleased, at the time. 

“Oh! I meant that I’ll make Thranduil tell Lord Elrond, of course,” Fileg corrected himself, “You won’t mind, will you, Thranduil?” 

“Save your breath, Thrani,” Aiwen recommended with a sigh, “It’s nice of you to think of us, but Calmarille and I are simply doomed to putting up with Master Samnolas until he’s done with his current ‘grand artistic vision.’” 

Calmarille nodded sadly and explained, “I went to complain to Amme Ambaraxiel yesterday while she was closeted with Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian, discussing changes to the canons we’re designing for Aran Gil-galad’s and Lord Cirdan’s ships. She was busy, so she told me just to tell her whatever it was then and there. So I did, and I told her about the paucity of water and food breaks, and how he wanted to use what seemed to me to be an insufficiently well tested dye to put in my eyes in order to make them look gray like Luthien’s, and how he wanted me to actually hold an arrow nocked in my bow while I aimed at Aiwen for HOURS, and . . .” 

“And how Master Samnolas wanted me to keep a REAL SWORD at Calmarille’s throat for HOURS while he painted us,” Aiwen added, with another roll of her pretty blue eyes and toss of her shining blond hair. 

“Lady Aiwen, please stay still . . .” the armorer complained. 

“Sorry,” apologized Aiwen with a sigh, before continuing, “Anyway, Calmarille’s mother thoroughly scolded Master Samnolas for us yesterday evening. From now on, we get to take breaks whenever we say we need to. And he’ll respect that, or Lady Ambaraxiel will use him for testing cannon designs. And there will be no dye in Calmarille’s eyes, because even the best eye dyes still hurt when they’re first applied, and Lady Ambaraxiel insists that no one is getting hurt for art, no matter how ‘grand a vision’ it is.” 

“And no real arrow to be aimed at you, right, Aiwen?” Thranduil needed to confirm. 

“Right,” Aiwen assured him, “And I hold a wooden sword for all the posing we do with both of us there, while Calmarille holds an empty bow.”

“And I only nock an arrow and hold it drawn back while Aiwen takes a break well clear of where I’m aiming,” Calmarille elaborated, “And she only holds the real sword up to where my throat would be while I’m taking my break.” 

“So, why are Galadriel and Luthien trying to kill eachother, again?” Fileg asked, finally moving past his awkward awe with Calmarille in order to ask a witty question which made him sound almost like his normal self. 

“Good question, brother-mine,” Aiwen responded in an exasperated tone, while Calmarille gave Fileg a startled – and interested – smile. 

Calmarille was a very pretty elleth. She also seemed to be a nice one, and a not-boring one. Thranduil could understand why Fileg liked her, even though he didn’t at all understand why being infatuated with Calmarille made Fileg act like a brainless idiot around her most of the time. 

Thranduil promised himself that he’d never be like that when he fell in love with someone. He’d also never do foolish things to get an elleth’s attention, like getting his friends into trouble by asking them to help him dye a dog a vivid royal purple. Or like getting into a fight with another ellon who was trying to court her. Especially when Calmarille had made it clear to EVERYONE that she was focused on her training as an engineer now, and had no interest in courting anyone until after she had achieved high renown in her chosen field, thank you very much. 

Fileg had lost his voice again in reaction to Calmarille smiling at something he’d said, but the dark-haired elleth answered him politely anyway, “It is a good question, Fileg mellon-nin. Master Samnolas was inspired by watching Aiwen and I at arms practice yesterday. Apparently we were . . . what was it that we were again, Aiwen?” 

“We were ‘delightfully fierce’ and ‘movingly graceful,’” said Aiwen with disgust, as she rolled her eyes again, “In retrospect, I greatly regret not having been deceived by your feint and letting you toss me into that mud puddle, Thranduil.” 

“I would have helped you back up,” Thranduil assured her, again avoiding thinking on what it was about Aiwen that made him want to get her attention, and get her all flustered by doing things like tripping her into puddles. And that, even at the same time, made him want to stop anyone from hurting her, even just hurting her a little as he put armor onto her. Actually, Thranduil didn’t particularly like Smith Hanaconer putting his hands all over Aiwen as he helped properly fit her armor on. Thranduil glared at Hanaconer again. 

“I know that you would have,” Aiwen replied with a challenging smile, “and I appreciate that you treat me like a real opponent, unlike some OTHER ellyn.” 

“Liltano and Endaqueto are my friends, but they are toerags in that one way,” Calmarille sympathetically agreed, “In Liltano’s case, I think it’s because he might fancy you, Aiwen. Endaqueto, on the other hand, just isn’t skilled enough to know how to handle an opponent who isn’t as good as a full-time soldier, but isn’t as bad as a beginner, either. You are learning how to avoid a large variety of quick disarms from him, though. That’s something.” 

Endaqueto was good fun most of the time, but Thranduil really did not like Liltano. It wasn’t because he might fancy Aiwen, though. It was because Liltano always tried to make Thranduil look bad in front of Glorfindel. And, more recently, he’d been trying to make Lord Arandil look badly in front of Captain Glorfindel, too. He hadn’t been succeeding with it very much, because Lord Arandil and Captain Glorfindel were both clever enough to realize what he was doing and mostly ignore it, but it was yet another reason why Liltano was a toe-rag. And that was why Thranduil was more annoyed now than he’d ever been before with Liltano. It had nothing to do with Liltano fancying Aiwen. Nothing whatsoever. 

“That is something,” Aiwen agreed with a light sigh, “But if Thranduil or Endaqueto had succeeded in making me look like a clumsy fool at practice yesterday, then we might not even be in this situation.” 

“Master Samnolas thinks that because we make such wonderful warrioresses, it would be a shame not to have us pose as Galadriel and Luthien,” Calamrille explained in a subdued manner, “And he’s conflating rumors about those two great ladies having disliked one another at first, with true stories about Lady Galadriel having worn plate armor during the War of the Last Alliance, and with true tales of Princess Luthien having sometimes dressed in leggings and tunic to go hunting.” 

Aiwen nodded and elaborated, “He’s conflated it into this nonsense of a portrait where Galadriel was wandering around alone, in plate armor, when she first entered into Doriath. And then, in that exact moment, she ran into Luthien-the-huntress, who was also alone. And then an armed confrontation ensued.” 

“If we’re lucky, it will just be this one portrait and then we’ll be done with these particular awful costumes,” Calmarille confided worriedly, “If not, there may be a whole series of us dressed up as a soldier and a hunter.” 

“Oh, I devoutly hope not,” Aiwen muttered, before frowning in concern and asking Calmarille, “You don’t really think he’d have us repeat all of the other poses in these new costumes, do you? Holding hands, admiring rainbows, dancing together, playing with the mongooses or kittens or whatever other cute little animal, all of those?” 

“Just in case Master Samnolas thinks of that,” Calmarille said weakly, “I think I’ll talk to my mother again and see if she will please ask for our help with something else. Anything else. You wouldn’t mind working in the engineering labs, will you?” 

“After this? Not at all!” 

“There, Lady Aiwen. You’re done. And the armor fits quite well!” Master Hanaconer said with evident satisfaction. 

Aiwen sighed again, “Thank you, Smith Hanaconer. I’m sure that you did a fine job with it.” 

Smith Hanaconer smiled and bowed. 

Turning to Thranduil and her twin and their gwedyr, Aiwen confessed, “I will never again be unsympathetic when one of you complains about wearing all of this! It may be only thirty-two pounds, but it feels like a ton! As if it’s a suit made out of rocks!” 

“It takes a while to get used to,” Thranduil empathized, “But I’m sure that you’d manage well once you got used to it. If that was what you wanted, I mean.” 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” Aiwen said, with a there-and-gone again smile. “Unfortunately, I think the fun of the armor fitting is over, which means it’s time to start the real torture.” 

Calmarille sighed and nodded bravely. 

“Is it really that bad, ‘Wen?” Fileg asked with concern, his love and care for his twin sister again overwhelming his infatuation with Calmarille. In response to which, Thranduil noticed, Calmarille was once again smiling at Fileg. 

“It’s going to be a disaster. I’d invite you all to come watch, except it’s also going to be agonizingly boring,” Aiwen replied glumly. 

After taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she said to Calmarille, “We should really get going, Calma. Otherwise ‘the morning light will be gone’ and he’ll make us come do it again tomorrow, in case he decides to set it in the morning light.” 

“Oh, dear Eru, yes,” Calmarille agreed. She offered Aiwen a hand to help her down from the platform in the heavy armor. 

They had bid the ellyn farewell then, Thranduil remembered. 

He also remembered Aiwen’s beautiful smile when he and Fileg had brought her and Calmarille lunch that day. They had also insisted that the modeling and painting session stop for long enough for Aiwen to take off the armor, eat, and listen to Thranduil and Fileg sing an incredibly long version of the Lay of Luthien in order to help her and Calmarille ‘properly get back into character.’ Then, and only then, had Aiwen put her armor back on to once again portray Galadriel in Master Artist Samnolas’ Grand Artistic Vision. 

“You remember Aiwen in that awful gleaming armor, too, don’t you, Thranduil?” Fileg asked, breaking into Thranduil’s recollection of just that memory. 

“Yes. I do,” Thrandui agreed, without going into more detail. He’d remembered it, and he’d almost enjoyed remembering it. But he wasn’t ready, yet, to share it aloud. And no one made him. He wasn’t loath to hear more, though. He just wasn’t ready yet to speak of it, himself.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and his friends speak a little more of the past. Thranduil and Theli spend time together, and end up finding more than one point to disagree on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s wife Minaethiel, cousin Fileg, friend Linwe, and General Rochendil belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please read all warnings. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
> Quotes chapter 38: 
> 
> “That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation.” -Ransom Riggs
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
> 
> Excerpt from Chapter 37: 
> 
> [The King] remembered [his future wife] Aiwen’s beautiful smile when he and Fileg had brought her and Calmarille lunch that day. They had also insisted that the modeling and painting session stop for long enough for Aiwen to take off the armor, eat, and listen to Thranduil and Fileg sing an incredibly long version of the Lay of Luthien in order to help her and Calmarille ‘properly get back into character.’ Then, and only then, had Aiwen put her armor back on to once again portray Galadriel in Master Artist Samnolas’ Grand Artistic Vision. 
> 
> “You remember Aiwen in that awful gleaming armor, too, don’t you, Thranduil?” Fileg asked, breaking into Thranduil’s recollection of just that memory. 
> 
> “Yes. I do,” Thrandui agreed, without going into more detail. He’d remembered it, and he’d almost enjoyed remembering it. But he wasn’t ready, yet, to share it aloud. And no one made him. He wasn’t loath to hear more, though. He just wasn’t ready yet to speak of it, himself.

Calmarille gave Thranduil a sympathetic smile and related that, “Even after meeting you and Fileg again that one day, Master Samnolas was rather confused at the time, as to your family structure.” 

“Mine?” Thranduil asked, bewildered. Master Samnolas was a cloud-head, yes, but Thranduil had been an only child. His immediate family had then numbered only three – his father, his mother, and Thranduil himself. There hadn’t been much to be confused about. 

“Yes,’ Calmarille explained, “After your parents arrived, Master Samnolas asked Celebrian for an introduction. Your father was busy with Lord Elrond, so she introduced him to your mother. He had no sooner met Queen Felith, then he was leading her away to see ‘how lovely her daughter looked’ in his grand vision. And how much Aiwen had helped him to realize his ‘West meets East’ series, which he firmly believed would help all of us to ‘see our first meetings as different elven peoples in a softer light.’” 

Thranduil blinked in shock at that, while Fileg started to laugh. 

“Samnolas thought that Minaethiel was my sister?!?” Thranduil exclaimed. 

“Yes. Or more precisely, your and Fileg’s sister. He thought that you were triplets, and that you were the oldest.” 

“You must be jesting.” 

“Not at all,” Calmarille assured him with a shake of her head, “Samnolas has a very poor grasp on reality when he’s caught up in a project, which he still was, at that point. He’d told your mother that he was a bit worried about the romantic chemistry between you and Mina. He had expressed that particular concern at least five times before your mother’s increasingly exasperated explanations about how you were an only child, and how you and Aiwen were only distant cousins, finally penetrated his haze of artistic absorption.” 

“What did my mother say?” Thranduil queried, almost in awe at the extent of Master Samnolas’ cluelessness. A part of his mind was also trying to remember when he had first realized that he’d almost never minded it when people mistook Fileg for his brother, rather than his cousin. While, at the same time, he’d found it deeply troubling whenever someone mistook Aiwen for his sister. 

Calmarille tilted her head, as if unsure of what exactly Thranduil was asking her, then tentatively explained, “Well, she said that Aiwen did look very beautiful. And she called the portrait with Galadriel’s features superimposed over Aiwen’s ‘haunting,’ by which I think she meant ‘a little creepy.’” 

“Because it was a little creepy,” Fileg said, and Linwe nodded. 

“I meant,” Thranduil asked softly, “What did my mother say? About there being romantic chemistry between Aiwen and I?” 

“I don’t think that she directly addressed it, even when Master Samnolas stopped suddenly after the fifth time she explained how you were only distant cousins, and asked her if he could paint your wedding portrait, then.” 

Thranduil’s mind boggled at the very thought. Given Minaethiel’s feelings about Samnolas, he would not have been her choice of wedding portraitist, to say the very least. 

Calmarille gave him a gentle smile, “Your mother said, quite politely, that even though Master Samnolas was very skilled, they’d have to choose a Greenwood painter to paint any royal wedding, and she was sure that he understood.” 

“I do miss her,” Thranduil said softly. His mother had sailed near the end of the Watchful Peace. Then, to avoid thinking more of that, he asked, “What did Galadriel think of the ‘Armed Beauties’ portrait?” 

“Well, Celebrian said that she received it graciously in public. But then, that once it was just her and Celebrian, she collapsed with laughter. Galadriel later told Celebrian that, while she and Luthien had disliked one another at first meeting, no actual weapons were involved. And, that while they did finally decide that they liked one another while on a hunt, there was no silver and gold armor, and no jeweled warrior’s braids. And quite a bit more mud.” 

“What did Celeborn think?” Linwe asked, “Of that portrait?” 

“Based on it being hung in the still room in their talan, where he never went if he could help it, I’d say that he didn’t much like it,” Fileg guessed. 

Calmarille nodded, “Yes, love. You’re right. Celebrian said that Lord Celeborn found it disturbing, too.” 

“Ask your cousin Celeborn if you can borrow that creepy painting for a while,” Fileg urged Thranduil, “Then you can have Theli spill something on it. It would be an entirely believable accidental destruction – he’s already destroyed, what, two carpets and three robes, all of them from Celeborn?” 

“Three carpets and four robes from Celeborn, and a grand total of twenty-three carpets, five robes, and thirteen tunics, overall, if I haven’t lost count,” Thranduil corrected, then conceded, “That’s not a bad idea, though. Celeborn could even practice being patient with Theli afterward.” 

“Perhaps in a few years,” Calmarille counseled, “right now matters are still somewhat fraught between the two of them.”

“Yes, they are,” Thranduil agreed quietly, “I have some confidence in Cousin Celeborn to rectify that, given time. 

The four elves spoke for a while longer, then bid each other good evening. 

By luncheon the next day, Theli was much his normal self after the emotional toll of having written a letter to Elrond in the West at Erestor’s direction. The afternoon found he and Thranduil discussing the bizarre (to a woodelf) notion of swimwear. 

“You can’t go swimming bare anymore, and it will disappoint Legolas and Faramir if you don’t come, you know,” Thranduil said mildly, wondering about what had caused this curious change of heart while Theli inexpertly helped him change out of his court finery and into riding clothing. 

“I don’t see why I can’t,” Theli disagreed easily, as he accidentally mangled the sky blue and gold brocade overrobe which Thranduil had worn that morning. 

Thranduil let this particular opportunity to explain how to best handle brocade pass them both by. That particular robe was expensive and tasteful, but too heavy to please him. Fileg might be disappointed by its loss, but part of Thranduil was hoping that Theli would compound tearing threads out of it by hanging it up so poorly that it would be further damaged by its own weight. Which Theli promptly proceeded to do. 

Thranduil stifled a smile, then asked, “So you will join us, then? You have time to change if you’re quick about it. I’ll even help you determine what to wear. Once you’ve finished mishandling my own apparel, of course.” 

“Oh, Trees!” Theli exclaimed in bewildered exasperation, as he brought over the swimming leggings and long-sleeved silk tunic which Fileg had set out for the King earlier that day, “What is wrong with the clothes I would normally wear to go riding?” 

“Besides that I’m fairly sure they’ve already been put out of their misery?” Thranduil asked, amused. Then, as Theli went to find an undershirt for him, he corrected, “No, Pest. I don’t need an undershirt with this outfit.” 

“However am I supposed to tell that?” 

“A long-sleeved warm weather tunic cut close to the body is worn without an undershirt,” Thranduil explained patiently, “Now, you really can’t take your clothes off to swim anymore. It just isn’t done.” 

“It IS done, because I do it,” Theli countered. 

Thranduil rolled his eyes, “I know that you have in the past. I . . . Minaethiel and I, had to explain wood elves’ lack of inhibition about nudity to Thandrin, and then the twins, and then Legolas, because of you!” 

“Not just because of me,” Theli objected with a grin, “There were other wood elves among your retainers who share my opinion about the ridiculousness of wearing clothes just to get them wet, you know!” 

“Perhaps a few,” Thranduil agreed in a teasing tone, “But none so persistent in their prejudices as you.” 

“Oh, prejudiced, am I?” Theli exclaimed with mock outrage. 

“In some ways you are,” Thranduil replied fondly, “But just now I am attempting to persuade you to behave with a sense of modesty.” 

At that point they were interrupted by Fileg’s brisk knock at the door. And then by his long-suffering sigh as he soon as he saw them. 

“Thranduil, your tunic is on backwards and mis-buttoned, and somehow the embroidery at the cuffs is wrinkled. I’m not even sure how Theli did all of that. Or why you let him!” 

“We were conversing, I was distracted!” Thranduil defended himself as he began fixing his tunic. 

“Good to know that you can dress yourself, I suppose,” Fileg half-teased, before directing Theli, “And you’re not dressed for riding and swimming at all. Have you even found your swimming clothes?” 

Theli’s dark-blue eyes regarded Fileg with surprise and uncertainty, “Clothes? For swimming?” 

“Yes, bratling. Clothes for swimming,” Fileg repeated with a roll of his eyes, Then he went to go and search through the drawers containing Theli’s apparel (most of it new). When he found a pair of swimming leggings dyed a pleasing shade of dark blue, he tossed them in Theli’s direction. 

“The strange pass I am come to,” Theli complained, but without seeming to have taken any real offense. The swimming leggings he held up and looked at with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. 

“Just wear them and stop making a great matter out of this,” Thranduil advised mildly, trying to keep any hint of a tease out of his statement. 

“I will, I suppose. But wearing clothes just to get them all wet is ridiculous. Skin dries so much easier!” Theli bemoaned. 

“Hurry it up, slug-a-bed,” Fileg admonished Theli amiably, even as he set about trying to amend the flaws – real or imagined – that he saw in Thranduil’s appearance. 

The swimming expedition went well, and seemed to be enjoyed by all, so far as Thranduil could tell. Most of the Dol Amroth contingent, excepting only Faramir, did swim in the nude. Aragorn spent an energetic half hour trying to drown Faramir, but Thranduil supposed that it was likely deserved. 

The following evening at arms practice, Thranduil pulled Theli away from Glorfindel’s tender teachings to challenge him to a wrestling bout. The first of which, to Thranduil’s irritation, he lost. He’d underestimated Theli’s hand-to-hand combat skills not insubstantially, which on one level pleased him. Anything which made his cousin harder to kill was, in some way, laudable. 

The second contest Thranduil won, because he was quicker and taller. The third should have gone to Theli, except that he pulled what would probably have been a decisive blow. Yes, hitting Thranduil that hard on his solar plexus might have made the King vomit, but still, it would have been the right thing to do. Arms practice was only practice because no one was actually trying to kill you. If you weren’t getting sore and bruised from your training, then you weren’t coming anywhere near close to the level of skill and exertion that you needed to win a real fight. 

Thranduil would have liked to have straightaway made the point that pulling a non-lethal blow, even in practice, was stupid. However, he was too winded to do so at first. 

Instead he lay side by side with Theli on the dusty ground of the Citadel’s main practice court after their third match, the both of them sweating and out of breath. 

Theli did not seem to mind dirt, but his King did not enjoy spending more time lying in the dust than he had to. 

Fileg brought Thranduil a bench from the nearby garden to sit on while he finished catching his breath. His gwador’s expression fairly eloquently said, ‘why didn’t you listen to Linwe about Theli being half decent at this,’ but he didn’t actually say a word. 

“Thank you, Fileg,” Thranduil said in a way which he hoped conveyed that he hadn’t actually lost the balance of the matches, and also that he and Theli could both use the practice in any case. 

Once he had enough breath back, Thranduil criticized Theli, “You would likely have won if you had been willing to make me sick up. Don’t pull a blow because of that in the future.” 

“Ugh,” said Theli, who still lay winded on the ground. 

“It’s a bad habit,” Thranduil chided. 

“You’re a bad habit,” Theli mumbled back. 

“Would you have let one of your soldiers get away with it?” Thranduil complained, trying a different tactic. 

“Not a chance in Mordor’s fires,” Theli admitted. 

“Please do stop being a hypocrite then.” 

“Sorry. I get out of the habit of fighting full-out when I’m not actually in army service anymore.” 

“How utterly stupid of you.” 

“Mmm,” Theli smiled tiredly, “Your friend who also likes ‘hacking about at things with his sword’ has said so, as well.” 

Glorfindel was across the field and seemingly paying them little attention. However, Thranduil’s general (and mentor) Rochendil had observed all three bouts and was now approaching them. 

Thranduil had noticed Rochendil’s imminent arrival, but Theli, who was still lying flat on the ground, had not. 

So he started badly when Rochendil chided, “We have discussed your exerting less than your full efforts during practice sessions before, Ecthelion. In fact, we have discussed it entirely more often than we should have had to. And yet, I believe that you pulled no less than four blows during the course of those three matches with our King. Am I mistaken?” 

“Well, at least two,” Theli admitted shamefacedly as he propped himself up on his elbows to address their general, “the other two just weren’t well-timed. I’d say that they were sloppy, more than that I didn’t put enough force behind them on purpose.” 

Thranduil shook his head, not sure whether he was more appalled that Theli had been so clumsy and indecisive, or that he, Thranduil, could have potentially lost more than just two matches. 

“Two pulled blows, then,” Rochendil accepted disapprovingly but not unkindly, before ordering, “Bad enough. Off you go.” 

Theli groaned, but obediently began to draw himself back up to his feet. Albeit with some difficulty. Thranduil got up off of his bench to offer his healer-cousin a hand back up. 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” said Theli with a soft smile, “And thanks for waiting to challenge me to wrestling today, instead of yesterday, if that’s what you had in mind. Yesterday I would have been too fatigued to have been any challenge.” 

“I wanted it to be a fair fight,” Thranduil replied with a wry but fond smile of his own, “Although I must admit that it was a fairer fight than I had expected.” 

“And a less fair one that I was expecting,” Rochendil criticized, although now it seemed that he was criticizing both of them. Fortunately for Thranduil, Rochendil didn’t actually scold his King for underestimating an opponent, or for failing to block the upper-cut that should have laid him out in the last match, if Theli hadn’t purposely mucked up his own follow-through. 

“Right,” Theli accepted resignedly, “Two laps around this court yard?” 

“Around this whole city level, but only one lap,” Rochendil ordered calmly, “And take Lord Televegil and Soldiers Parvon and Alion with you. They could use the exercise, too.” 

“And be careful,” Thranduil added to that, “As abominable as your sense of humor can be at times, I’m starting to become accustomed to your presence.” 

“I like being your friend, too, Thranduil,” Theli said with teasing affection, “And being your cousin isn’t awful.” 

“Brat. For that, you can draw my bath, after practice.”


	39. Warnings and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil learns that a known threat has been eliminated in a very final way, but he does not find this reassuring (and neither does Faramir). Thranduil, Thalion, and Lothgail figure out a way to deal with the messy political implications of Theli’s past treason conviction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s wife Minaethiel, cousins Fileg and Luthavar, and friend Linwe, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories. Please be sure to read all warnings. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks again to Peggy for reading my drafts ahead of time and catching errors and plot pitfalls! And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee, for reading my drafts and helping me to get your characters right! 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes chapter 39: 
> 
> “The family economy evades calculation in the [normal economic sense]. It's the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren't bankrupted - but rather, vastly enriched.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
> 
> “People speak a lot today about the banality of evil, but not all evil is banal. Some of it is carefully structured and well-thought-out. That's where the real danger lies.” - Alan Dean Foster

Later that night, they attended an after-dinner reception in the Long Gallery of the King’s House. Theli had seemed fine, but Thranduil still kept an eye on the younger elf from time to time. 

One of the times when Thranduil glanced over to check on Theli, he saw Faramir’s and Eowyn’s one year old daughter Mithiriel pick up a book and then approach Theli with raised arms, as if she wanted him to pick her up. Which Theli did, with a tender, almost awed expression on his face. 

“Well, look at that,” Legolas said in a pleased and surprised tone, “Mithiriel normally avoids poor Theli - and Elladan - as if they are orcs. She doesn’t care for the breathing treatments and medicines which they have to give her when she is sick.” 

“I can’t say as I blame her,” said Thranduil thoughtfully, “but it is good that she is seeing that there is more to at least Ecthelion than that.” 

The King continued to keep a quiet eye on that situation. Theli had sat down on a settee with Mithiriel on his lap and was reading the book to her. He was reading slowly, and sometimes it seemed as if one-year old Mithiriel was correcting his pronunciation. Which was perhaps not that surprising. Theli spoke Westron extremely well, but read it with more difficulty. And Faramir’s and Eowyn’s children were all precocious, each in their own different ways. 

After Mithiriel fell asleep in his arms, Theli caught Thranduil’s eye and shook his head, as if to say that Thranduil was worrying over him for no good reason. 

As Thranduil walked away, he noticed that Celeborn had been watching him interact with Theli with a rather intent expression. He wondered why. 

Less of a mystery was Erestor taking the opportunity of Theli being held in one place by a sleeping child, and going over to speak to him for an intense, but quiet, ten minutes or so. Given that Legolas had mentioned that Erestor had been trying to arrange a time to speak with Theli since the morning after Erestor made the younger elf write a letter to Elrond in the West about their exploits, Thranduil supposed that Theli had been using his excellent skills at evading pursuit to avoid that whole conversation. 

Both elves seemed to be smiling at one another by the end of their conversation, so Thranduil put aside the idea of knocking Erestor to the ground repeatedly during arms practice as now being unnecessary. 

It was at this point that Thranduil decided Theli was well enough on his own, and returned his attention to the rest of the party. 

Soon enough, he was interrupted by the approach of his youngest child. 

“Ada?” Legolas asked, with Faramir’s friend Dervorin’s new Haradric wife in tow. 

“Ion-nin, Lady Sayyida,” Thranduil greeted them evenly, “What is it?” 

“Sayyida would like a few minutes of your time, Ada,” Legolas explained, clearly curious as to why. 

“Would you, Lady Sayyida?” Thranduil inquired politely, “May I ask why?” 

“Of course you may ask, King of the Wood of the Green Leaves,” Sayyida replied in her mellifluous accent, “By your leave, however, it is a matter which I would prefer to raise in relative private.” 

Fileg smoothly moved to Thranduil’s side, while Dervorin neatly diverted Legolas’ attention into rescuing That-Annoying-Dwarf Gimli from a human stone mason. 

“I am as alone as I am going to be, Lady Sayyida,” Thranduil quietly informed her, “Speak as you will.” 

The black-haired beauty, now dressed in the most elegant of Gondorian fashions with only the slightest hint of the exotic South, smiled at Thranduil and Fileg, then gestured towards the closest balcony.

Thranduil nodded his agreement, and led the way. Fileg walked tense as a bow string beside him. 

Once they were out in the cool night air and away from the hearing of other guests, Sayyida’s warm smile and subtly flirtatious manner melted away. In a grave manner, she began, “Your friend and cousin, the healer who was reading a book to Lady Mithiriel earlier tonight?” 

“Lord Ecthelion, yes,” Thranduil replied, his eyes narrowing, “What of him?” 

“I gathered from his testimony the other day that he had met the Body-Stealer,” Sayyida said, her voice quiet and somber, “And I feel I must warn you that your Lord Ecthelion is exactly the kind of man the Body-Stealer would have found the most . . . attractive. Not just in appearance – he liked light hair and light skin, ‘for variety,’ he said. But inside – your friend has sparkling eyes, an inner happiness, and a great fondness for people. All of those are what the Body-Stealer most enjoyed to hurt, and to corrupt.” 

A chill moved down Thranduil’s back as he heard her warning. Fileg kept his attention on Sayyida, but Thranduil could tell from his brother-by-law’s face that Fileg had found this information frightening, as well. 

“I thank you for your warning, Lady Sayyida.” 

“Sayyida, then, King Thranduil. As we are to be allies.” 

“Sayyida,” Thranduil agreed, “and I am Thranduil, when there is no formality to be observed.” Then he asked, “Have you any information as to how this ‘Body-Stealer’ might go about re-acquiring a person who has interested him?” As Thranduil knew the foul creature had been deeply interested in Theli. 

“Not so much as I would like,” Sayyida admitted, “and I have already told Faramir and Dervorin all that I know. I will tell you as well. The oligarchs of Umbar would, at times, acquire men and women, including men like your friend, and then put them on a ship bound for Khand. But I do not know if they were intended for the Body-Stealer, or for some other Khandian client.” 

“Acquire, how?” 

“Piracy, enslavement, purchase – however they could, and then sell to whomever they could,” she answered, her exotic dark eyes glittering with suppressed anger. 

“Those sons-of-orcs,” Fileg swore, making Sayyida look at him in surprise, and then smile at him. 

“Well said, gwador,” Thranduil seconded, and then asked Sayyida, “Please do tell me if you think of anything which might be of further use. Or if I am not available, then Fileg or one of my sons. Even one of my captains.” 

Sayyida agreed, which was some comfort to Thranduil. But not enough. 

That became clear when Thranduil woke up in the middle of that night from a nightmare about the Body-Stealer having captured both Theli and Legolas. Linwe calmed Thranduil, while Theli went to fetch tea. 

After that, the King was able to sleep again, but the worry did not leave the back of his mind. He decided that it would be a relief when they got back to the Greenwood with Theli, since any human hired by the Body-Stealer would stick out like a sore thumb at the North Hall, or even in the partially built Emyn Estel. Thranduil also found himself glad that Theli would have limited freedom of movement for the next nine years, because it would make keeping him safe much easier. 

The next morning did nothing to soothe Thranduil’s fears. The King and part of his retinue found themselves meeting with Aragorn, Faramir, and Gondor’s senior and junior spymasters, the lords Ethiron and Dervorin.

“The man Caelion Angolion was arrested by the House of Healing guards in the dark hours of this morning,” Faramir explained to them in his characteristic quiet but intent manner, “However, before he could be interviewed by a Citadel guard, and before my Citadel guard staff supervisor thought to wake me, he died. Our current theory is that he was killed by a poison someone had dropped into his breakfast porridge.” 

Faramir nodded to his man Dervorin, who reported, “All of the guards, staff, visitors, and passers-by from this morning are being interviewed. So far, it seems as if the most likely candidate for a poisoner is a lad of about sixteen who came to deliver spice samples to the Citadel Guard’s kitchens. They didn’t use any of the spice samples, so the boy must have gotten close enough to drop it in to the specific dish meant for Caelion.” 

“Was the dish labeled in some way?” Thranduil asked with growing concern. 

“No,” replied Faramir, with a worried expression and a wryly acknowledging smile, “That is one of the parts of this whole business which struck us as particularly concerning, too. Caelion was only one of two detainees in the Citadel Guards’ cells this morning. The other was a cook who became drunk and belligerent last night, and needed some time to cool off. The cook is fine.” 

“Is he?” Theli asked quietly, “Or rather, could the poison have been something which affected Caelion, but not the cook?” 

“Like what?” Dervorin asked gamely. 

“Was the imprisoned cook obviously drunk?” Theli queried. 

Dervorin shook his head, “No idea. I can find out, if it’s important.” 

“It’s really unlikely to be important,” Theli answered pensively, “But there are poisons which are neutralized by the ingestion of intoxicating beverages. Do you have any of the leftover porridge eaten by Caelion and the cook? And the spices brought by the boy?” 

“We have the first and the third, Theli, but unfortunately there was no porridge left over when the cook was done,” Faramir explained, “Our alchemists and apothecarists are running tests on the porridge and the spices. You are welcome to join them, if you wish. Uncle Elladan is there as well.” 

“Lord Elladan ran off in that direction as soon as he heard,” Dervorin explained with a droll expression, “whilst making interested noises about poisons which activate other poisons along his way.” 

Theli shook his head with a bemused expression on his face, “Yes, such substances do exist. But they are even more rare than poisons nullified by alcohol.” 

“Uncle Elladan lives in hope of encountering the rare and unusual,” Faramir remarked in an affectionately long-suffering tone, “And I am sure that he will be glad for your help.” 

“Mentioned you by name, in fact,” Dervorin added with a bemused half-smile. 

“Yes, he did,” Faramir confirmed, “But I would prefer that you continue not to go anywhere outside the Citadel alone, Theli.” 

“But, why?” Theli asked, clearly confused and taken aback, “Caelion is dead, poor man.” 

“Because, cousin-mine,” Thranduil instructed with as much patience as his worry allowed him, “Your attacker . . .” 

“He didn’t really ‘attack’ me, Thranduil.” 

“Be quiet, listen to your King, and yes he did, I was there,” Fileg scolded under his breath as he kicked Theli’s ankle. 

“As I was saying, Ecthelion,” Thranduil began again, this time unable to keep the bite out of his words, “Your attacker has been murdered, in a secure location, just before he could be asked any questions about why he wanted so very badly to get you alone.” 

“Thranduil is right, Theli,” Faramir agreed, with far more sympathy than Thranduil had been able to find at the moment. “The situation is suspicious enough that we do not want you going anywhere outside the Citadel alone. I am sorry that Gondor cannot do better for you, after you have done so much for us over the years. But I will not take a chance at your being attacked on our watch.”

“You can’t control every blasted person who comes into your father’s Citadel, Faramir, especially since I understand that you are still supposed to be on light duty,” Thranduil excused the human prince, “But I do want to confirm my understanding that the Citadel’s holding cells are on the Sixth Level.” 

“They are,” Faramir affirmed, as Aragorn gave Thranduil a grateful nod, likely for soothing his older son’s proclivity for blaming himself for everything which went wrong in Gondor. 

“Good,” Thranduil accepted, then ordered Theli, “If you’re below the Seventh Level, then you’re to be with an escort. Do you understand?” 

Theli sighed heavily, but he acknowledged, “Yes. I understand. I’ll do that.” 

Thranduil thought about adding ‘see that you do,’ but decided that, since Theli had been very good about staying in the lines thus far, such a stern reminder was unmerited. 

Later that day, after an abbreviated council meeting during which Theli had once again found something helpful to contribute, Thranduil found himself pondering the merits of adding Theli to the Greenwood’s line of succession. And doing so despite his new cousin’s prior treason conviction which, in the ordinary way of things, would have disqualified Theli for such a high distinction. 

Thranduil liked the idea only partially because it would be so shocking and unsettling to Theli, whom Thranduil had to remind himself wasn’t really to blame for the whole Caelion situation, or for Thranduil having to be concerned over his safety.

The matter of adding Theli to the succession did not, in the end, have to be solved by Thranduil himself. 

“Ada?” ventured Thalion, after everyone had dispersed from the common room save himself and Thranduil, “May we speak in private? I have an idea which I – well, Lothgail and I – would like to run by you.” 

“Of course, ion-nin,” Thranduil agreed, and ushered Thalion into his sitting room. 

“Lothgail and I suspect that you would like to add Theli to the succession,” Thalion began, then with a smile added, “despite his likely objections.” 

“You suppose correctly.” 

“Given the matter of his treason conviction, that then puts us in the position of needing to arrange a pardon,” Thalion continued, “The offense was considered petty treason as opposed to high treason, which helps. But still, the suggestion of favoritism and nepotism will be hard to avoid. Of course, those who know him well will know that he’s worthy of being pardoned.” 

“Or they’ll have guessed the truth,” Thranduil interjected laconically, “which would have obviated the need for a criminal conviction in the first place.” 

Thalion paused at that, quite taken aback. But, as Thranduil had expected of his oldest son, Thalion mostly figured out what must have happened on his own after that. 

“Curse it all, muindor-Las, what did you do?” Thalion complained of the absent Legolas. 

Thranduil smiled humorlessly, “I would say that this was an instance of you attributing misbehavior to your baby brother unfairly, which we are both trying to avoid doing, you and I. However, in this case it is an essentially accurate guess, ion-muin-nin.” 

The King then proceeded to explain the entirety of the circumstances behind Theli’s treason conviction to his oldest son, trusting entirely as he did in Thalion’s discretion. 

Thalion accepted that explanation with a sigh. Then he rallied himself to add, “Well, some of the officers and soldiers in our army undoubtedly guessed at least that he took only volunteers. Even I figured that out, after Sergeant Rhovandir kicked me in the teeth with it.” 

“Good for you,” Thranduil praised in an entirely serious manner, “I’m proud that you were able to listen and think about what really happened, even when you were so angry that whatever-it-was had almost happened to Legolas on Theli’s watch.” 

With a huff of disbelief, Thalion commented, “It seems that Legolas is what happened to Theli, rather than the other way ‘round.” 

“Mmm,” Thranduil agreed, without really wanting to explore that subject further. He was determined to fix the situation for Theli as much as possible, though.

“You didn’t know the truth then, at the time, did you, Ada?” Thalion ventured, “Or you would have handled matters better.” Then he winced, and amended, “I mean . . .” 

“I know what you mean,” Thranduil mercifully interrupted his child with a wry and affectionate smile, “Yes, ion-nin, I would have handled it better. And I would have handled it much more safely, for all of them. That I did not handle it better was my fault, in the end. For being unobservant.” 

“Oh, no it wasn’t,” Thalion loyally argued back, “Ada, knowing only what you knew then, you did well. You could have banished Theli or had him executed. Or, at the least, sent him away from the family, like I wanted you to do at that time. Give yourself some credit, will you? Everyone else does.” 

“That is what being King means, my dear friend and son,” Thranduil reminded Thalion gently, “Mine is the final decision, so mine is the fault.” 

Thalion sighed, then gently reprimanded, “Ada, you thinking that is part of why you’re such a good King. But Nana Mina would kick you for saying so without qualifying it. No one should expect perfection from himself. Not even a King. And she’d say that your doing so is a burden you can’t take on without dashing yourself to bits on the rock of the impossibility of being all things to all beings. We love you too much to let you do that.” 

Thranduil chuckled fondly, “And I, for my part, am glad that you finally let us ennoble you and make you an official advisor of the Crown, Thalion-nin. After me and Fileg, I think that you may have known your Naneth Minaethiel best. You had her for so much longer than Legolas. Sometimes, I can even bear to hear what she would have said, about the things I do and don’t do or the way that I think about them. And I think that I can bear it best when her voice comes from you.” 

“That is what family is for, is it not?” Thalion asked in reply, his voice slightly husky and his trustworthy chestnut brown eyes misty. 

“It is,” Thranduil agreed, his own voice a little husky as well, “A point which I am trying to make to our cousin and friend Ecthelion.” 

A knock at the door signaled the arrival of Thranduil’s cousin (and de-facto second heir) Lothgail, who apologized for being late. She was as well-put together as ever, and when she smiled she used her dimples to devastating advantage. 

“Lothgail and I had planned to present our ideas to you together,” Thalion explained. 

“Not to worry, Clever Lily,” Thranduil assured Lothgail, “Thalion has already explained what the two of you wish to discuss, but we hadn’t gotten much further than that. I believe that your plan for a pardon is a good one. Both because Theli doesn’t deserve all the guilt he willingly assumed, and because it will allow him to take his proper place in the succession and be better valued on his own merits. Now, tell me, who do you two think would be best to present this idea of a pardon?” 

“Well, anyone other than us,” Thalion put in with a wry smile, then clarified, “The Royal Family, I mean.” 

Thranduil laughed fondly, “True.” And it was nice to hear Thalion use that term to refer to himself, as well. 

Lothgail also smiled at that. Then she added, “Anyone other than us, always provided that we can find another good option. Ada Luthavar could come up with someone appropriate who owes him something, I’m sure,” more solemnly, Lothgail added, “He has been willing to call in debts to help Theli before. I do not think that will have changed.” 

“I think that you are correct in that,” Thranduil agreed cautiously, “Although I will do everything I can to avoid asking Lutha for such a favor.” 

Lothgail’s father, Elder Luthavar Faelindion and Baralinhil, strongly preferred to be called by his nickname Lutha when spoken to, or about. He preferred his nickname even more than Theli did, albeit for different reasons. Or at least he wanted to be called ‘Lutha’ by everyone except his daughter, who had thought as a child that the name ‘Luthavar’ sounded very handsome and elegant, which charming perception had won her father over on that point. 

“Yes, agreed,” Thalion seconded his father’s objection, “Although if it were cousin Lutha doing the arm-twisting, he’d manage it well enough that whoever he got to present the idea might think that the idea was actually his in the first place.” 

“Or at least that such elf would be too well-bribed to reveal his thought process in coming up with the idea we’d like introduced,” Lothgail pointed out honestly, “Especially if cousin Thranduil gives Ada Luthavar full access to his treasury in aid of the endeavor.” 

Thalion shook his head, but he was smiling. 

That wasn’t an entirely bad idea, but, “Still,” Thranduil determined firmly, “I will spare Lutha our asking this of him. Nor would Theli consent to such a request being made of Lutha on his behalf, were we to deign to ask him his opinion.” 

“Fair enough,” Lothgail allowed, “And I am sure that my father appreciates your consideration. In my opinion, our next best option would be for you to just declare the pardon, cousin Thrani. As King.” 

With a sigh, Thranduil conceded that point but continued on, “However, I’d like to avoid that, too. If I can.” 

Thranduil grew silent as he thought over the matter further. He wondered if it would be possible to ‘hide’ or ‘obscure’ Theli’s pardon in the midst of other pardons. There were a number of elves who had been punished for mistakes made during a time of war, yet who had otherwise been very loyal to the Wood. Elves who would not have been so severely punished if not for their Kingdom having been in a near-constant state of siege for most of the last Age. 

“I have a thought,” Thalion ventured, “What . . . what if we made Theli’s pardon just a part of something bigger? Something to help, and recognize the dedication of, more elves than just Theli. Something that would be good to do, and worth doing on its own, but that we just didn’t think of it until now, when we had Theli’s specific case in point to think of?” 

“That sounds promising, ion-nin. Go on,” Thranduil urged. He had been thinking along the same lines, but he wanted to see how his oldest son would develop the idea. 

“There are other soldiers and officers who have made mistakes of judgement in the past, but who have always been loyal despite those lapses,” Thalion elaborated, “And there are other elves – traders and merchants and even lords – who were officially reprimanded for carelessly speaking of matters pertaining the Greenwood in public places. And people who organized expeditions without sufficient security. And . . . various others who have endured a stain on their reputations. One which they to some extent had earned, because they did things which they should have known better than to do. At least considering the desperate situation we were in, and how we had to keep in mind that there might be enemies everywhere. But those who have also led upstanding lives on the whole and who have shown dedication and made sacrifices for the Wood despite their mistakes.” 

“So, you propose a more general pardon?” Thranduil summarized encouragingly. 

“Yes,” Thalion affirmed, his chestnut-brown eyes alight with enthusiasm, “A general pardon, and one to be as widely applied as possible. We could work with the Greenwood Council at Large on it. And with the Council of Elders.” 

“I think that’s an excellent idea, ‘Lion,” Lothgail complimented her one-time elfling minder, “We could have the Council of Elders ask their senior guildsmen to submit the names of other guild members whose reputations were marred by such a conviction for consideration to be pardoned as well. I’m sure that Daerada and Ada Luthavar and all of the Elders could find some individuals whose efforts merit recognition of their rehabilitation. Daerada would see it as a way of rewarding effort without cancelling out punishment, which would appeal to him, I think.” 

“That is a good thought, Clever Lily,” Thalion praised Lothgail, before cautioning, “The pardon would still be more of a gesture than a substantive action, since it will not take away the punishment and loss of rank which has already occurred, only open the door to future advancement again. But I think that it would still mean a great deal to not just the redeemed elves, but also to their families.” 

Lothgail nodded excitedly, “And it will also symbolize that the War is over, and that we recognize those who sacrificed for the Kingdom despite their mistakes. And that we are moving on anew.” 

Thranduil had mostly been pleased to let Thalion and Lothgail work out the merits of this proposal between them, but he did think it appropriate to point out to them, “Going through the process of making a wide series of pardons and recognitions will take a great deal longer than pardoning Theli alone. But I do not think that prohibitive to our original aim, as it will take some time for Theli to learn enough to be given substantial responsibilities as a royal lord.” 

“That is certainly one way to put it,” Thalion agreed dryly, before asking Lothgail, “Clever Lily, didn’t you say that Theli persuaded that poor Gondorian scribe to read aloud every single clause of that draft treaty yesterday? Just so that Theli didn’t have to stumble through reading the Westron version himself?” 

Lothgail laughed lightly, “Yes, he did. Although it has ended up giving us an unanticipated advantage. You see, now the crotchety old human Lord Sendar respects us more. He misperceived Theli’s semi-illiteracy when it comes to diplomatic terms in Westron to be a negotiating gambit on our part. And now he is persuaded to give Theli any concession he wants, so as to avoid losing an hour while Theli has someone read the provision in question again and again and again until he has it memorized!” 

“I trust that you are taking all due advantage of that?” Thranduil inquired, hiding a smile. 

“Of course, cousin Thrani,” Lothgail assured him, “As long as I verbally brief Theli on what to say instead of giving him something to read, he’s proven quite capable at putting forth our most objectionable positions.” 

“I would expect nothing less,” Thranduil lauded. 

Lothgail smiled at him in thanks, and then said, “Going back to the point of the more general pardon requiring extra time, I think that the delay is worthwhile just to have Theli’s name be only one of many.” 

“I agree,” Thranduil seconded, “And, perhaps more important than that, there are others who have suffered for their poor judgement, yet still merit official forgiveness and credit for the good they’ve done.” 

“Yes,” Lothgail said, “Just because we have a personal motive for doing it, doesn’t mean that it’s not the right thing to do anyway.” 

“I’m so glad that you agree, Clever Lily,” Thranduil said with a droll smile, “Since you do, why don’t you go ahead and write up a draft proposal along those lines to present to me and my other advisors here in Minas Tirith? Let us say for the day after tomorrow?” 

Lothgail agreed with a rueful laugh, and half-teased, “And then I’ll write up the modified proposal, based on their input? Rochendil and Rochirion, at least, are likely to have ideas worth adding in. Likely Fileg and maybe Calmarille, too.” 

“Legolas as well, despite his youth,” Thalion added proudly, “Especially in respect of the Ithilien-en-Edhil elves. And Theli might have some good suggestions as well, if he doesn’t realize that we came up with the whole idea to begin with as a way of helping him.” 

“That might be doable,” Thranduil pointed out, “Cousin Theli is very sensitive to moods, but not to the vicissitudes of politics.” 

“And I don’t think that he’d realize that we have started on this path, just for him,” put in Lothgail. 

“That, too,” Thranduil recognized with a nod. 

With an apologetic smile, Thalion offered, “Lothgail, making the pardon general was my idea, even though you and Ada have made it better. I’ll write up the initial proposal, if you like. You can review it and then handle the amendments. You’re better at re-working drafts than I am.” 

“Perhaps we could decide on the language for the initital proposal together, and then draft Mychanar to do the actual writing?” Lothgail suggested with her dimpled smile, “Mychanar is very fast at that. And he might have some helpful ideas of his own.” 

“Clever Lily,” Thranduil asked Lothgail curiously, “Why are you looking for more work?” 

Lothgail sighed with a familiar flattered yet exasperated expression. 

Just from that, Thranduil knew what was afoot. 

So did Thalion, who laughed lightly and asked, “Who’s fallen in love with you now, Lothgail?” 

“Several knights of Gondor and Dol Amroth,” Lothgail admitted with a rueful smile. 

“‘Several’ meaning exactly how many?” Thranduil inquired, because Lothgail’s parents weren’t here to do so. 

“If you can even be sure, poor Clever Lily,” Thalion said sympathetically. 

“Two gallants from Gondor and three from Dol Amroth, I believe,” Lothgail explained resignedly, “They’re all being very chivalrous about it, but there are only so many dances and entertainments I want to attend while they contend politely for my attention.” 

“I don’t blame you,” Thranduil told her with a great deal of empathy, “Do bear in mind that you are always welcome to tell any of your suitors that I require your company, and then do something you please unencumbered by enamored swains.” 

“I know, cousin Thrani. Thank you. Ada says much the same thing. He’s very sympathetic, but he sometimes worries more than he should, so I try not to tell him about it.”

“He has his reasons, Clever Lily,” Thranduil comforted her. 

“I know,” Lothgail agreed sorrowfully, then brightened as she shared with them, “Speaking of avoiding suitors, I believe that Theli has seven right now, all from Dol Amroth.” 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow in surprise that this had started so early, and with humans rather than ellith. 

“Seven?” Thalion repeated, with polite disbelief, “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with Theli, but that is rather a lot.” 

“It is,” Lothgail confirmed, “And I think I’m accidentally making all twelve of our collective suitors jealous by monopolizing him at dances in order to give us both some breathing room. He’s handling them courteously, and it doesn’t seem to be bothering him that much, but I thought it was worth mentioning.” 

“Thank you, Lothgail. It is certainly something that I would like to keep an eye on,” Thranduil said. He didn’t actually say that he wanted to keep an eye on the situation so that he could be prepared to intervene if necessary, but he was pretty sure that Thalion and Lothgail understood that part anyway. 

“It hasn’t actually been unpleasant so far,” Lothgail elaborated, “and Prince Faramir and Prince Amrothos explained to both Theli and I that being elven is . . . a particularly desirable marriageable trait, to the people of Dol Amroth. And particularly being part-elven. To them, Theli and the Elrondionnath – and Arwen – are like long-lost cousins come home.” 

Thranduil sighed at the implications of that, and then remarked, “Well, as much as I love Arwen and support her choices, I don’t want to lose anyone else to her fate.” 

Particularly not Theli, now that Thranduil was investing so much effort in becoming closer to him. And so Thranduil concluded forcefully that, “The Dol Amroth suitors will simply have to remain love-lorn.” 

“That is how Legolas and I feel about the matter, too,” Thalion said somberly. Thranduil mentally winced at the damage it would do to Legolas, were he to lose Theli to a mortal life span. 

“Poor Lord Elrond,” remarked Lothgail, her musical alto rich with sympathy, “And Elladan and Elrohir and Andreth and Celebrian, too. They’ve lost Belemir and Arwen both, now.” 

“Yes, indeed,” Thranduil agreed, then promptly changed the topic because he didn’t want to think anymore about peredhil choosing mortal lovers, “Now, how long will you two – and I suppose Mychanar – need to put this draft ‘general pardon’ proposal together?” 

They spoke of the general outlines for the pardon proposal for a little while longer, then went to dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> End Notes: 
> 
> Stories about Thranduil and Theli’s friendship in the DH AU include: 
> 
> “Dear Sauron,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/11584683
> 
> The Valar Have Sent a Miao: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/11788200
> 
> Conversation at the End of the Watchful Peace: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793381/chapters/26598180
> 
> and “True Colors,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817195/chapters/26662794
> 
>  
> 
> More about Maglor’s/Belegaeron’s granddaughters can be read in “Belegaeron’s Granddaughters,” available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/650030
> 
> Some of the chapters in “Mountains of Mourning,” which is more of a Legolas and Thranduil father-son story and a Legolas-and-Faramir friendship story, also deal with the relationship between Thranduil and Theli. It is available here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936251/chapters/4181916


End file.
